


The Island, part II

by Ellie_M_P



Category: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
Genre: Action, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie_M_P/pseuds/Ellie_M_P
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After fighting like he never thought he could, Peter finally reaches the Island. But helping the imprisoned fighters is the least of his problems. Before that he has to face the shocking truth about his mother's past and in the meantime figure his feelings for a woman he meets at the Tournament.<br/>This is the better half from the 2nd episode of my 'The Path of the Tiger and the Dragon' series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Island

 

_June 10_

 

'The white boat.'

'The fancy one?'

'Well, what can I say, you're this year's big favourite; Mr Ketonna can be pretty generous when it comes to his favourites.'

'I'm flattered.'

Peter took his bag and hopped on the boat. The vessel was big enough to accommodate five men but it was only him, the soldier behind the wheel and a… person, the one that was escorting Peter to the Island.

'See you on the Island, Mr Lee.'

Chan made sign to the soldier to leave and returned to the Arena. Qualifying participants would be leaving throughout the next two days and he would have a lot to do. But the end of it all was near. Chan knew not how, or when, he only felt it was near.

Peter took a glimpse at the land behind him, the hills looking smaller by the second. He had seen a few more fighters preparing to leave. And he could swear that one of the packed fighters was her, Sonya. Or was it his imagination? No, no, it was her… It  _had_  to be her.

*****

From the top of the clock tower Kermit was sending away the boat with his friend on board. Now they only waited for the 'all clear' signal and a small but lethal group of commandos would take over the Island within minutes. They couldn't promise 'no casualties'.

Kermit turned and inspected the green hills around. Woodword told him that his man had come up with the strategy for the whole attack. A hacker  _and_  a military expert? The ex-mercenary was pleased. An army was probably already camping in the woods, not to mention the SEALs in the open sea, preparing to make sure that nobody leaves by water. The complete plan was the apparent work of an experienced and intelligent mind; it was elaborate and had covered even the weirdest escape routes Ketonna could take. Kermit was very pleased.

Back in the sea the boat was a tiny dot now. He had made certain three times that the soldiers knew who to shoot and who not, and his stomach was still rolled in a ball. He began to realise almost tangibly what exactly he had sent Peter into.

It made him sick.

*****

Would Kermit make it? If Peter weren't to leave here, Kermit should, he had family, for God's sake. Peter had been so happy and proud when his friend with green glasses decided to adopt little Christy together with Karen. He never thought he would see Kermit settling down, and, before him, too.

God, Kermit, why did you mess yourself into this?

Slightly excited by the way events evolved Peter decided it was time to concentrate on the now, and for the time being leave the land and its problems where they belonged – behind his back.

He took a brief look at the creature next to him. He had seen… it… sitting by Ketonna up in the Lounge. At one point, Peter assumed, the creature must have been a male. Now he had a small hump, and scarce white hair covered severely disfigured head and face. Generally, the young priest concluded, if they were to make a contemporary film based on his childhood-favourite 'Lord of The Rings', the creature would be perfect for the part of Gollum.

'Are you nervous?'

'Excuse me?' It could speak.

'You seem unnerved.'

'Mister, if I was as easily unnerved as you think I am, I would have met my maker years ago.'

'Forgive the insult.'

'No offence taken.'

After a short break the thing spoke again.

'You fought well.'

'I know.'

The answer was quite unexpected and it took another minute to the disfigured face to continue.

'Mr Ketonna likes good fighters.'

'Does he?'

'You doubt?'

'I understand… he doesn't seem to like  _too good_  fighters.'

'What do you mean?'

'He kills Shaolin, doesn't he?'

'Do you care?'

'I've lived with them; they mean nobody harm.'

'Perhaps, but with Ketonna it's personal.'

'Is it? He allowed one Shaolin inside the tournament…'

'He wasn't branded.'

'What difference does it make?'

The creature sighed.

'You'd better hear it from me than hear the rumours, I guess… For more than 30 years he's been having a recurring nightmare… that a tiger and a dragon attack and eat him alive.'

'I see…'

'It had made him somehow… unstable.'

'Such a nightmare would make the Statue of Liberty unstable.'

'True.'

'And… why the association with the Shaolin?'

'Now, Mr Keenan, that  _is_  personal.'

'Forget I ever asked,' said Peter with flat voice, and concentrated on the growing patch of land to the right of them.

'Won't you ask me who I am?' said the creature after another break.

'If you want me to know, I'm sure you'll tell me. I never burden myself with excess information.'

The face wrinkled even more… it must have been a smile.

'My task is to escort you to your new abode, and then take you to meet my son.'

'Your son?'

'That would be the tournament's owner.'

Peter stared at the burned face.

'And he's finally impressed…'

'Impressed? Interested, I'd say, it goes a long way for something to impress me.'

The sound from the boat cutting through the waves deafened Peter's voice and made his slight excitement impossible to detect. Almost…

'It's just,' continued Peter, 'not often that I see business moguls keeping their dads close.'

'Well, that's a shame. A father can be a best friend, a teacher, a guardian…'

Peter gulped.

'If you say…. I wouldn't know.'

'You're and orphan, right?'

'That's right.' He made a break. 'I'm all alone.'

'Loners make for good soldiers.'

'Damn right,' replied Peter and glared at the old man. The sign that the conversation was over was understood.

Peter was taken to a bungalow towards the Southern corner of the Island. It was comfortable enough, it even had a mini-bar. He spent few minutes walking around, concentrating. No, there was not a sign of microphones or cameras. It was a relief, though not entirely a surprise; why bother with surveillance if nobody can really escape, anyway?

The area was well situated. Peter's bungalow had a great view and even a private garden. He could easily distinguish other bungalows around, all situated at a respectable distance from one another; it was like a small village. Further, towards the part of the island that overlooked the mainland, he could see the white flat roof of what seemed to be a massive mansion, undoubtedly Ketonna's residence.

The flora of the place was quite rich, Peter felt like he was back in his father's garden. The association stung him like a bee; he remembered the Ancient's request, and despite all that happened between them, inspected the paper the apothecary had given him. He red few times through the signs, made sure he knew what each of them meant, and yet the more he read the less he understood.

*****

Without signalling that he noticed, Peter folded the paper and listened. The presence was powerful but not threatening. He waited until it came closer.

'Are you stalking?'

'If stalking is to say 'hello' to your neighbour then yes, I'm stalking.'

He turned; it was just impossible not to smile. How can he not smile when Sonya Sha's black eyes were smiling from the other side.

'You made it.'

'Have you doubted?'

'Not for a second,' he replied, and stretched hand. Sonya responded.

Again Peter got palpitations when his eyes met hers, and again it felt like electric current shook him when their hands touched. It would have been helpful if he knew that she felt exactly the same way. But, as she had learned to do during the last eight years, Sonya hid her emotions well, so well she no longer knew if she could reverse the chain.

'When did you arrive?' asked Peter, trying to hide his excitement.

'Just now. Thought I'd inspect my new habitat before the place starts swarming with gold-digging martial artists.

'Good thinking,' said Peter quietly.

A brief glance of mutual understanding implied that Sonya excluded Peter and herself from the above-mentioned group.

'You… you busy?'

'Well…' He chuckled. 'Actually, there are some herbs I need to collect and I've no idea what I'm doing.'

'May I?' asked Sonya with a lenient smile.

Trust is a treasure that takes a lifetime to gain and a blink of the eye to lose. By definition with Peter Caine the gaining part was probably even longer… up until that point.

'Sure.'

Sonya opened the paper and in five seconds an elegant eye-brow curved playfully.

'Can you read this?'

'The reading part is easy.' Then he mumbled, more to himself. 'I never thought I'd say that of Chinese writing...'

Sonya laughed. The sound warmed Peter's heart like nothing ever had.

'Reading is one thing, interpreting is a whole different story. This paper… it comes from the hand of an herbalist, and one with good sense of humour, too.' She winked. 'Come with me.'

Obediently Peter followed. Sonya showed him where she lived, six palms and two bushes west from his bungalow, as they calculated it, and the next half hour was blissfully spent in a crash course of 'Basic phytotherapy for beginners'. Apparently the Ancient had requested seven different herbs, all of which, by sheer coincidence of course, happened to grow in the area. Two were plants crawling up the hairy bodies of hospitable palm trees, four were flowers, and one was a fruit growing freely not far from the beach.

Sonya explained in detail how the herbs should be stored, how they should be dried and transferred. Two of the types were deadly if consumed raw, and the combination of the fruit with two of the flowers, mixed in equal portions, was a powerful cure for blood poisoning, and detox in general.

Together they returned to Peter's bungalow supplied with herbs enough to cure half the population of Veracruz. They placed them on the big couch and Sonya took the chance to enjoy the view from the window while Peter was nervously searching for something useful in his mini-bar.

'That's quite the view you've got here.'

'Yes? Don't you have one?'

'Ha, a bunch of trees and a corner of the sea… My place isn't on top of a hill, you know, but then again, I'm not Ketonna's favourite. …Thanks,' she said when she took the offered bottle of Bacardi Breezer.

'Grapefruit? How did you know?'

'I… I didn't.' Peter was amazed with himself. Somehow he decided the drink would suit her perfectly… and he was right.

Their eyes met and both moved heads unnerved.

'So, you think I'm Ketonna's favourite?'

'By the way you laced Hao you should be living in his backyard by now.'

Peter smiled.

'…Which reminds me…' By the door of the bungalow Sonya stopped and her gaze devoured Peter. 'Thanks for saving my life.'

This time Peter didn't stammer.

'I couldn't allow anything to happen to you… I only don't know why.'

Her knees buckled.

'Let's walk.'

In silence they walked beyond the garden and down to the beach, to a part behind a bunch of black volcanic rocks.

'How safe is it to talk?' asked Peter already finding it useless to pretend that any of them was an ordinary contender.

'Well, we have no surveillance in the bungalows…'

'I noticed.'

She was surprised for a moment.

'Of course,' smiled Sonya while finding a spot not far from the cool, transparent water. She sat, allowing the waves to caress her feet.

'If you look carefully, you'll notice that the buoys around us are more than the usual.'

'Ketonna is over-concerned about his fighters' safety?' asked Peter ironically.

'More about  _his_  safety. These are radars and antennas. A bird can't fly without him detecting it. There's so many, along with other machinery, that it's impossible to use microphones, especially the long-distance ones.'

'Too much interference.'

'Yep.'

Peter had another sip from his drink.

'So, you're Woodoword's man…'

Sonya stared him with pure horror. Her tension grew so abruptly that she was ready to leap any second.

'How…'

'Like you said, we're both here to help.'

Peter remained calm, with a Mona Lisa-like smile on his slightly tanned and still a bit sore from bruises face.

She took a bigger sip.

'You're my back-up?'

' 'Scuse me?'

'Nobody knows I'm here. Nobody, but Woodword.'

'That's understandable, since you've got a mole.'

Another stunned glance followed.

'Y-yes…'

'So they sent  _me_. I'm the 'official' rep. …And.. your back-up, you said?'

'Do they know they sent a Shaolin?'

Peter lifted his bottle in a silent cheer.

'If they did, I'd be dead by now.'

She returned the gesture. 'True.'

'So… Sonya… may I know your real name?'

'Only if you tell me yours.'

Direct approach, Peter liked it. No games, no sneaking, straight to the point. How many women do that?

Left hand dropped and slowly wrote  _Peter_  in the sand; he preferred to skip family names for now.

Sonya's eyes remained fixated to the ground, which is why Peter didn't see their changed expression. She got scared, surprised and pleased, all in three seconds.

Head went back up and deep black eyes glimmered under the noon sun. The water washed Peter's name, numbly inviting Sonya to reveal hers. Elegant right hand moved on the wet sand. The writing said  _Tara_.

Peter stared at the sand-carved letters until the water washed them, too.

'That's a really beautiful name,' he said genuinely.

'Thank you!' She sounded like she wasn't used to compliments regarding her name but then again, how many Caucasian men spoke Chinese dialects?

After another moment of silence Tara dropped a rather odd question.

'Are you good with a gun?'

'Where did that come from?'

'They didn't tell you?'

'Obviously not…'

'Before the finals Ketonna tests his finalists' marksmanship.'

'What if they've never shot before?'

'They undergo a crash course. That specific group shoots tomorrow. Those of us who know how to use a gun, shoot today.'

'Ha… Cool.'

Tara was not happy.

'Why, what's the problem?'

'If you don't pass the test, you're out without even fighting.'

'OK… I don't think I'll have a problem…'

'But I will.'

Peter lifted an eye-brow and chuckled.

'You serious?'

She remained grave.

'Yes, you're serious.'

'Look, Peter… I'm sorry, Colin…'

For some reason Peter's heart jumped when she called him by his real name.

'That's OK, you can call me  _Peter_  when we're alone…'

Tara blushed.

'I'll remember that.'

After a quick break she remembered what she was talking about.

'I'm not finished here, you see, I haven't even started yet. I can't leave now.'

'I understand, but what's the problem?'

'You saw me fighting, right?'

'Hell yeah, and I'm a fan,' smiled Peter.

'Well, let's say that my shooting skills are quite the opposite to my fighting skills.'

'Oh…'

'Can you think of any way to help me?'

Peter took a few seconds. 'I'll need to make some enquiries but yeah, I think I can help you. And this means you'll have to entrust your mission to my shooting…'

'It's fine, I trust you.'

At that moment Tara couldn't yet comprehend what an amazing thing she had done. Those words, those three little words Peter had craved hearing for such a long time. That he was trusted by someone who had known him for a few hours… Not even his own father trusted him, so much that Peter had grown to consider 'Trust' a title, some kind of award he was badly trying to earn. And now Tara gave it to him. Simple as that. No questions asked.

'Thank you!'

Not expecting such answer Tara turned to him and for a moment she saw such deep pain and loneliness in the big hazel eyes, that they almost seemed to equal her own.

*****

'Phew…'

'Nervous?'

'Don't underestimate me, Keenan.'

Peter grinned. They were too close to the mansion now and though they weren't expecting to be heard by anyone she still preferred the fake names. Besides,  _Keenan_  was the only family name she had for him.

'It's risky but…'

'Any better ideas?'

'Can you shoot from this far?'

'I thought you trusted me…'

She did. Tara had absolutely no idea how good a shooter Peter was but for no reason at all she felt she could entrust him her life.

'I do.'

Cracking branches made her jump.

'You're late,' said Peter without turning.

'Hey, I'm the one who's risking his butt here.'

'Really?'

They shared wry smiles and Peter turned towards Tara.

'Miss Sha, that is… and old acquaintance of mine. These days he prefers to be called Lee.'

'Way better than Colin,' smirked Chan, and handed Tara a gun.

'This is what you're shooting with. You'd better give me the one you've got.'

'And the difference is…'

'The new one contains two blank bullets. You just press the trigger, Superman will do the shooting.

'Sucker.'

'Nerd.'

Interested Tara observed the funny exchange of words between the two men. She couldn't figure whether these two were friends or foes.

'OK, gentlemen, that's enough,' she smiled. 'Lee, what if I shoot only once?'

'I doubt it, he usually requires an encore. And even if you don't, all guns are returned to me for a check, I'll make sure to get rid of the blank bullet.'

'All right…' She looked at Peter and sighed. 'Thank you. …And, Mr Lee…'

'Yes?'

'I'm glad you're not as bad as you make yourself look like.'

Slightly uncomfortable Chan nodded.

'You're on in five minutes… Colin.'

'I'm coming.'

Chan disappeared.

'Well…'

'Well…'

They smiled abashed.

'Can he be trusted?'

'I don't know.'

'If those aren't blank…'

'We're dead, yeah. But, it's part of the plan, so…'

'Sure.'

She gulped and another moment of silence followed, only this time neither noticed. Peter was about to say something; instead he just halted with mouth half open, and simply let himself sink into her black eyes. To him they seemed to hold the Universe in them. In return Tara allowed herself, for the first time this day, to feel truly Peter's chi. As a Shaolin he was bound to have strong presence but it took more than that. His strength was engulfing her and for a moment she felt like drugged.

'…go'

'Sorry?'

'I have to go,' said Peter softly, much more so than any other time during their short acquaintance.

'Go,' she said, also quiet enough. 'Good luck.'

He smiled and disappeared off sight. Alone at last Tara leaned back on the warm brown stone and held her eyes tight. In the serene afternoon a storm was raging inside her lonely heart. Of all things she didn't expect that, she didn't expect…  _him_ … And a Shaolin, too. Was this some joke God was making with her? Was it destiny? Because it was no coincidence, for sure, it couldn't be. Just too many details fit too well.

She sighed and left the hideout.

The broad yard of the mansion complex was going to host a loud fiesta in the evening, welcome party for all those who had made it to the finals. But now it was the ground for the shooting test. Ketonna knew exactly what kind of tasks he would assign to his fighters and a lot of them included guns. So he wanted to check just how well his men could do with a humble 44. calibre (Senor Ketonna was an avid fan of Dirty Harry…).

In a small park right outside the mansion grounds was a pile of rocks, reminiscence of the island's past as part of the sea bottom. Surrounded by trees and a berry bush, it went largely unnoticed and that was where Chan met Peter and Tara. Earlier, during the festive lunch the first fighters had, Peter caught with Chan and 'requested' a small assistance which would eventually help develop the bigger picture. Chan agreed so easy that gave Peter chills, making him wonder if it wasn't a trap. But what other choice he had? Jake was just a soldier with a limited access, Chan was the only one other than Ketonna and his father who had full access to the whole complex.

*****

It was about 4 o'clock. The yard was in the shadows of the tall main building. At the one end was Ketonna with his men and the competitors. At the opposite end, more than 50 feet away, were the targets – human-sized, multi-coloured, fibre glass dummies. Along the way he had positioned few of his younger men, Jake and Phil Dane amongst them, who were to ensure that all went smoothly.

'Well, Mr Keenan, long time no see.'

'Mr Ketonna… Mr Lee…'

Peter only nodded towards Ketonna's father, standing not far from his son who, on the other hand, was nested in a pool chair wearing Hawaii shirt and dark sun-glasses, and had a cocktail in hand, one of those with too many paper umbrellas and even more alcohol.

'Mr Keenan, will you do us the honour of opening today's competition?'

'My pleasure.'

Peter had returned to his C4-mode, which meant short answers and serious expression. Tara was observing every move of his and after getting to know him better, she had to admit that his was an Oscar-winning performance.

'Where do you want it?'

'You want me to set your target?'

'Just trying to make it more interesting,' said Peter casually and aimed.

'OK, OK…' It was disturbingly easy for Ketonna to find his inner child. 'The nose.'

'The n…' Peter couldn't stop himself from giggling. Nobody else found that funny though.

'Yeah, the nose. You asked for it.' Ketonna stared intently at Peter and loudly sucked with his straw. 'More drink, old man, and make it cold.'

He handed the glass to his father and Peter saw the tiny creature limping towards the kitchen. He barely held himself from shooting Ketonna right here.

'The nose it is,' he said, and made a few steps.

Peter had his back to the dummy, as if he was hesitating. He released the fender, and made a few steps. Then suddenly he turned sharply and shot. The bullet found exactly the dummy's nose tip and took half the face along with it.

'Mr Keenan…' said Ketonna standing next to Peter, staring stupidly at the target. 'It's becoming a habit of yours to leave us all speechless… I'm loving it!' he said, and patted Peter on the back.

'Do you love it, honey?' he turned abruptly towards Tara who was finding it hard to conceal her amazement. Peter's blood froze.

'What can I say, a fighter  _and_  a marksman… rare breed.'

The girl had nerve.

'Just what a lady wants, heh?' winked Ketonna, and turned back to Peter, so Tara's reddening cheeks remained hidden for him.

'Go, now, boy, and enjoy yourself. I'll see you later at the fiesta, I hope?'

'I wouldn't miss it,' said Peter with a cold voice, and left.

Ketonna continued with the krav maga specialist, impatient to see demonstration of some of that famous Israeli military training.

Meanwhile Peter disappeared and after few very weird turns he found himself at the back of the mansion. A door opened and he entered. The only sound that followed was from steps walking on stone and then wood; two minutes later Peter and Chan were on the balcony of one of the sitting rooms. The place was quite dark at this part of day and since the tournament was in full power all doors were locked, alarms were on; even the mansion cat couldn't get in undetected. They were as safe as it could get. The balcony bars were clad with pots of bright red dahlias, elegantly hiding three different sorts of marihuana.

'Ketonna's tests…' answered Chan to Peter's inquisitive look.

'This place makes Wonderland look ordinary.'

'You've no idea,' whispered Chan, and sat on the ground. There were few more minutes until Tara's turn; the two men had to wait. Peter placed the silencer on the gun Chan had given him.

'How do you know when to shoot?'

'After she aims we count to four.'

'Four?'

'We both agreed three is unnerving.'

'It is.'

They smiled.

'Do you want to tell me what's going on?'

'You'll know when it's all over.'

'You sound like your father.'

Peter shrugged. 'I'll take that as a compliment.'

Chan's reaction to those words was a smile and a brief look at the cloudless blue sky.

'We have to stop doing this,' said Chan with a broad grin.

'What's that?' asked Peter equally amused.

'Meeting like that on high places, me waiting for you to shoot at something…'

Peter massaged his forehead and chuckled quietly at the awake of the bright memory of their first meeting, one that had turned Peter's life up-side down.

'I guess you're right,' he said and they exchanged brief but meaningful look. 'Jeez, like it was yesterday…'

Peter took a deep breath. For a moment he considered his brands and the course of four incredible, unbelievable years, the events from which had been slowly taking him to the branding cauldron in the Ancient's basement, on that bitter, winter afternoon.

Chan agreed. In that moment the two men had the same vision. It was of another world, a utopic reality where they could have been friends. They were the same age, same generation, but different fates. At one point both Chan and Peter had found themselves knocking on the door to life of crime and self-destruction. Peter had been pulled out of the ditch right on time while nobody had done that for Chan – his door eventually opened thus setting a totally different path for him.

They saw Tara preparing for her turn and took position. In those few seconds Chan found the bravery to ask.

'Do you think it's late for me, Pete?'

First he considered asking Chan what he meant but it was obvious. A straight answer would work much better.

'No,' said Peter and aimed.

From the yard they heard voices. Tara was picking her target.

'Heart… Did she say heart?'

'Yes, the heart.'

Peter aimed and all his energy was channelled at Tara. She lifted her gun and together they counted, 1… 2… 3… 4…

The shot hit the target precisely. It happened so that it didn't blow a great deal of the dummy, leaving a narrow hole.

'That's good, Miss Sha, great. Show me that again.'

She smiled, and lifted the gun second time. Peter had told her to aim for the same place should she be asked to shoot one more time.

1… 2… 3… 4…

At first it seemed like she had missed the dummy completely. Phil Dane was closest; suddenly he started shouting, 'Double hit, double hit.'

Tara pretended she knew what that meant. Ketonna took his sun-glasses off and stared at her.

'You… you shot the same bullet hole… twice?!'

Tara shrugged innocently. 'You should have told me if you wanted me to shoot somewhere else…'

'This is getting better and better… Go, go.'

She handed her gun to Jake and left. Trusting a stranger was the best decision she had made in a long time.

Up on the balcony Chan was stunned.

'How the hell…'

'You're underestimating me, Chan,' said Peter contently.

'Apparently I am…' Noise from the corridor interrupted the conversation. 'We have to get out of here…' When he turned, however, Peter was gone, so was the weapon. Chan only managed to get up and lean on the door frame when two soldiers together with Campos entered.

'Chief…'

'What are doing here, guys?'

'Siesta?'

'And the shooting?'

'They've got two more to go, the boss said we were free 'till five o'clock.'

'Never mind, I'll go there. Have fun,' said Chan absently and left. He made it look like he had been observing the shooting from the balcony, making it safe and all; in the meantime he couldn't imagine how Peter managed to escape.

Well, he thought, the disappearing act is a Caine trade-mark after all.

*****

Back in his bungalow Peter found it hard to stand still, a feeling he thought he had under control. So he went out and headed for the beach, the sound of splashing waves drawing him like a magnet. He headed south, in the opposite direction of where he had walked with Tara earlier today. And there, just before taking a small path leading down to the beach, he saw her. Tara was sitting on the glittering sand, again close to the water, the setting sun shining in her back, illuminating a cloud of golden dust around her.

Peter took some time… to admire the view, to thank Chance for finding her there at that time, and just to thank.

He took few steps, deliberately stepping on some dried grass. She turned. She welcomed him with a smile, all the previous awkwardness and tension completely gone. Now each felt the other like a good friend.

Peter took his shoes off and sat beside her.

'I need to thank you again…'

'I was just doing my job,' said Peter calmly, trying to hide the fact that at that point he was ready do for this woman anything she asked him to do.

Tara smiled. 'I trusted you two times, and two times you exceeded my expectations.'

'I did?'

'A Shaolin… and a marksman? It's quite incredible.'

Peter's expression grew dim. 'Would you have trusted me if I weren't a Shaolin?'

'Would  _you_  have trusted me if you weren't a Shaolin?'

'I don't know.'

His answer was so abrupt and genuine, that it left no place for her to be insulted or worried. She only stared baffled at him.

'Since I took the brands I haven't been able to distinguish between the previous me and now. I feel people's chi and I know if they are to be trusted or not, while before I counted on my instincts, I… I was more observant.'

He didn't know why he shared that at all, she probably had no idea what he was talking about. So, not unsurprisingly, her reply stunned him.

'You're talking of yourself before and after the brands. Could it be because you still haven't fully accepted your new identity?'

Peter was speechless.

'Your instincts before, as you called them, have only been sharpened by your Shaolin training, and your… personal qualities, they've been enhanced.'

'If you had only known the arrogant, insolent jerk I was before…'

'Peter, you take the marks of a tiger and a dragon on your forearms, not new personality! It's like… like cleaning the dust and dirt off a diamond – it's always been there, it only takes some effort to shine.'

He couldn't believe his ears.

'Who are you?'

'Do you mean the fundamental philosophical question, or just me?'

'I'd start with you, for the time being.'

'I'm a… little girl from a big country… with a very, very weird story.'

'Well, I'm a big boy, from a big country, and whatever weird story you've got, I can top it.'

She moved.

'Have you been raised in a Shaolin Temple?'

'I have.'

'So have I.'

'All right…'

'Haha… I guess it's normal for a boy, but not for a girl?'

'Well…'

'I grew up in a village in Fujian province. Nearby lays a monastery, Changlin. I studied and trained there.'

'But… but that place…'

'It's a myth? Of course it is. The temple is a proper Shaolin disguised as an average Buddhist monastery. It has been a normal policy, considering the fate of the temple in Henan…'

'I see.'

'Impressed?'

'Absolutely.'

'Do I win?'

'Not a chance.'

She smiled.

'My mother was an herbalist, a very gifted one, too. She was the apothecary and midwife of our village and of pretty much the whole area. She… she kept telling me that she was married to my father but I still never got to meet the guy.'

'Is he dead?'

'I don't know. Once I insisted on her telling me and she slapped me.' Tara looked down.

'You don't need to tell me,' said Peter and tried to caress her back but stopped millimetres before his fingertips touched it.

'No, it's not that, just… I was 16 when she died and left me all alone. If I had known where my father was I could have been with him.'

'You can't possibly imagine how well I understand you,' said Peter in a low voice.

Tara looked at him. His eyes were filled with unshed tears over never-dealt-with sorrow. Again she recognised her own pain, and perhaps even deeper one. Peter returned her look, she didn't move away. This time they both enjoyed basking into each other's gazes.

'Do you want me to continue?'

'Yes, please,' smiled Peter, and quickly wiped his eyes.

'So, instead of spending quality time with my daddy…' She chuckled. 'I left with a group of soldiers and at 17 joined Interpol.'

'I don't know whether to pity or congratulate.'

'You must be the first one who sees it that way… well, along with my best pal. Anyway, they liked the way I fight, then they said something about me having high IQ… To make long story short, I started training and studying and I was about 20 when they got to assign me as operation commander; been so ever since.'

She smiled at Peter's inquisitively lifted eye-brow.

'That would be the last five years and a half.'

'A long time.'

'Yeah…' Looking at the darkening horizon, she continued. 'So, what's your deal?'

'Let me see. I grew up without a mother. I got separated from my father, who was a Shaolin priest, when I was 12, spent two years in a shit-hole the authorities label as an orphanage… Then found home with the family of a police captain…'

'Ah, now it makes sense,' grinned Tara. 'Go on, go on.'

'Well, I… became a cop and… just like that, when I was 27, I found my father… after having spent 15 years thinking he was dead.'

'He walked on you?'

'He's been told that I was dead, too.'

'Great God… What kind of monster would do such a thing?!'

Peter considered that a reply like 'one of the best men on Earth' hardly fits the description.

'You don't want to know.'

'And?..'

'Oh, I intrigued you.'

'Are you kidding me, this is like a fairy-tale!'

'You've no idea… Well… The most extraordinary, difficult and wonderful four years of my life followed and… at the end, I found myself with these,' he said and lifted his covered fore-arms, 'and alone again.'

'Your father… died?'

'Left. He does that. It's… his thing.'

'I'm sorry…'

'At least now he had a reason… He thinks my mother could be alive.'

'Oh, dear…'

Peter shrugged.

'You guys defy  _Dynasty_  and  _Dallas_  put together.'

Peter started laughing so hard he snorted.

'God, I wonder…,' He kept giggling. '… I wonder what you'd think if you knew the whole thing… Let's just say that from a complete orphan I found myself with a father, a grand-father and two uncles.'

'What... they just... appeared?'

'Sort of. The story of my poor grand-dad and my uncles is far more cruel than mine, however.'

'Sorry about that.'

'And I'm sorry you had to grow up without a father.'

'A father – no, but at least I had the father-figure.'

'Let me guess, he was a Shaolin?'

'Very well. Yeah… Master Chen. He was the primary student of the Temple, also an apothecary, only not as good as my mother. He allowed me in the Temple, he taught and trained me… I don't know what a father does but I'm sure he has done for me more than most fathers do for their real children.'

'What happened to him?'

Tara considered. Should she tell him? Peter was a Shaolin, he might have heard of Shambhala… No, it's too bizarre, he'd take her for a loony, she shouldn't ruin everything.

'He… disappeared.'

'You tried to find him, didn't you?'

'You sound like someone with experience…'

'You bet.'

She chuckled. 'No... I would have but… they… 'called' him to go somewhere… and he never returned. If I knew… God, if I knew how to get there, I swear…'

'Hey, it's OK…' He finally allowed himself a light hug and Tara jumped.

'I…'

In a minute she relaxed. 'Don't do that again, all right?'

'OK…'

She sat at a slight distance and sank into her thoughts, admiring the deep-blue hue that was quickly colouring the sky. Peter could feel her tension but there was more to it. She was very energetic, very strong, and yet…  _not_  energetic and  _not_  strong…

'Tara?'

'Mm?'

'Do you want to tell me?'

She turned. 'Tell you what?'

'The true reason for your sadness.'

She turned her back again. 'I'm tired Peter. I'm so tired… I told Woodword I resign after this mission but… I don't know if I'll make it even this far.'

'Don't say that…'

'I have no more power left. All my life people have been telling me how strong I am, how tough I am… even Master Chen.'

A gull cried nearby.

'I'm tired of being strong, Peter. I'm tired… of being alert, of being on my guard.'

She bit lips.

'So little is left of this mission and yet… I don't think I have the willpower to go on and fight.'

'Please, don't say that, Tara, please,' whispered Peter; his heart was going to burst.

'I feel like I've been swimming in the deep blue sea for so long, and it's getting deeper and colder… and I'm alone. God, I'm so alone… And land seems to be near but I can't go any longer… I think I'll just stop fighting and… sink, just so that I'm able to relax… for the first time in my life.'

She closed eyes. No one had been allowed so deep into her soul before but with Peter there was some safety. It was very likely that at least one of them would not leave the Island, why not share?

Tara sensed Peter coming closer but this time didn't move. She only heard a dull sound and turned. Peter was patting his right shoulder, inviting her to lean on it. She gulped. This meant to let her guard down and expose herself. Did she trust him this much?

Tara hesitated but eventually succumbed and a bit stiff at first, clumsily put head on the strong shoulder next to her. She was still tense, and then started relaxing, muscle by muscle. In a minute however, was it Peter's overpowering presence, or the awkward position, she pulled from him.

'No, no, sorry, it… I can't.'

He nodded. 'It's OK,' he said quietly, 'I understand.'

Tara got up and took her sandals.

'I'd better go. You're coming to the fiesta, right?'

'I'll see you there,' smiled Peter and watched her leaving.

When she had made few steps Peter turned.

'I would have trusted you.'

'Me too,' she replied without looking at him and left.

He spent some more time on the beach, thinking of the new emotions that were steadily taking hold of him. He also meditated for a bit, just to get back in a proper state of mind.

The day wasn't over yet.

 

 

*******


	2. Fiesta

 

Stars were already glittering in the almost black sky. The broad yard of Casa Ketonna was about to host Thomas Ketonna's party for the finalists of his martial arts tournament. A mariachi band was already playing. Waiters were hurrying up and down, making sure all tables were sufficiently stored with bottles of the best tequila and beer. Salads and appetizers were properly stacked, too. The tables themselves were ordered under a vine stretching along the entire yard, while garlands with lights were providing for cosy atmosphere. Even the host's soldiers had changed into more civilian outfit for the occasion.

The fighters started arriving. Only the impressive build of some of the men suggested that they weren't your average party goers. Peter had slipped into comfortable cotton trousers and white shirt. Naturally the first thing to do was to search for Tara but she was nowhere to be seen. Slightly disappointed he found a seat overlooking the house and immediately pulled a bottle of ice cold beer.

More fighters came along and Peter noticed their extremely polite attitude towards him. Few sat near him, however, thus providing plenty of space for Tara who just arrived. Wearing her hair up thus revealing elegant neck, purple top with thin straps and short white skirt, she was a vision. Several accessories added to her funky look; nobody could guess that the tall, slender, Asian goddess was a deadly martial artist.

Peter noticed nothing. Neither the long legs, nor the sculpted breasts or the full, feminine lips, he remained oblivious to the once Peter Caine's favourite... qualities with a lady. _She_  was there, she was Tara, and that was all he cared for. Her deep, calming voice, her unique scent, her aura… Nothing else mattered as long as  _she_  was there. And as long as he could forget himself into those eyes, of course.

'Is it free?'

'Absolutely,' said Peter in a calm C4-manner. He was remarkably successful at hiding his excitement of having her by his side.

Tara sat and was surprised to find two bottles of Breezer grapefruit on the table.

'Did you get these?'

He grinned. 'Just in case.'

'Proactive, I like that.'

They drank to their mission's success and for the next ten minutes remained completely isolated from the crowd; it was just them two, talking and laughing, mocking other people and cracking jokes. Tara's intelligent irony was rarely understood and she was pleasantly surprised not only that Peter laughed at her sense of humour without the necessity for her to explain what she meant, but also returned it with witty sarcasm.

After those ten minutes the two were forced to return to the reality where they were still undercover and there was work to be done. Peter took a walk to the buffet for something more nutritious while Tara remained at her seat hoping to be able to finish the most disgusting part of her mission tonight if possible.

By the time Peter returned the mariachis were playing a new song, a particularly melodic and energetic piece. Almost by instinct Peter left the food and stretched hand to the lady. She loved the song as much as he did. The invitation was accepted and before they knew it Peter and Tara were moving in tact with the passionate music.

Undercover or not, they felt happy and light, at least for a few minutes they could afford that; they deserved it, dammit. For the first time Tara exposed a relaxed, smiled face, and even Peter allowed an emotion or two run through the stern mercenary complexion.

Tara's firm touch on the muscular shoulders, Peter's hands around the slender waist, elegant fingers glide down a strong arm, bodies touch each other, only barely at first, but with every fiery note the touch gets closer and more intense. Every contact between the two partners is maddening, electrifying.

Finally even Tara admits to herself that she feels it… just as strong as he does.

Peter is enjoying most those moments when he would allow his gracious partner to spin, only to be able to pull her closer to him after that. Every time she's back in his arms he's more reluctant to let her go.

Tara loves wild dances but she hates spinning in this one – for three long seconds she has to be far from him and his overwhelming strength which, she discovers with horror, she is becoming fast addicted to. Every time she winds back in his arms he takes her closer; his hands would hold her stronger as if forbidding her from pulling away again and all she wants is that he holds her, and never lets her go…

No one knows how the other feels; the only hint is the mad heartbeat each senses every time their bodies meet.

*****

When the song was over both partners thought their hearts would break. How they wanted to get out of there and escape to a world of safety with no Ketonna and no violence. But not just yet.

They returned to their seats and tried to make it look like nothing special had happened. However the looks they exchanged were different; they were the only sign suggesting that the whole world had changed.

'Cheers,' said Peter calmly.

'Likewise,' answered Tara with a foxy smile, and sipped from her now less fizzy drink.

After few moments of quiet dinner and some random chatting with other people, partly aimed to survey whether someone had actually paid them attention, an unexpected guest joined their table.

'Mr Keenan, Miss Sha…'

'Mr Ketonna…'

'Enjoying ourselves?'

'Quite well, yeah,' answered Peter coldly. 'Love the food.'

'Love the drinks,' added Tara, and finished her bottle.

'So, Miss Sha, what else do you like to do, other than fight or drink Bacardi?'

'It's a wide range of activities, Mr Ketonna,' answered Tara with tempting note in the voice. This was going to be easier than she thought.

Peter found sanctuary with one of the soldiers who was sitting on his other side, just some random talk about which of the food is 'local' and which was 'imported'. The soldier, Roman Villanova, explained in detail and then joined a louder conversation on his side, involving the profound topic on the best way to prepare guacamole. When Peter turned he saw Tara preparing to leave the table and Ketonna sipping wine and licking his wet lips.

'You… you don't mind, right? We're brothers here, we share.'

'Knock yourself out,' said Peter with foggy eyes, and stared lustfully at a gorgeous Mexicana flirting with Campos.

Ketonna winked and got up. He made sign to Tara to follow him.

'Coming,' she said, casually adding perfume on her neck, making her look no different than the average shallow, self-absorbed girl.

Peter tried not to look at her, desperately wanting to make sense of all this. Could he have been so wrong? Why did he allow to go this far and…

'Keenan?'

She meant  _him_. She was playfully leaning on the table and then collecting her bag, ready to leave.

'I'm listening,' he said with a chilling voice, eyes fixated on the crowd in front, hand holding tight the beer glass. Tara felt that and in that moment she hated her job, her superiors and the whole damn world.

She leaned on his chair and looked him in the eyes, from afar resembling a proper femme fatale.

'Do you trust me?'

Nothing had changed in her look. What occurred between them on the dance floor was still there; the last amazingly mystical ten hours were still there. Nothing had changed. Somehow Peter felt that more was asked through her question than it seemed and that whatever his answer, it was going to be fateful.

'Yes.'

She didn't say anything. She smiled, her features softened, she was relieved. She turned and went up the stairs which lead to Ketonna's private chambers. Despite his answer and the microscopic possibility that what he feared might happen wouldn't actually happen, Peter felt like a dagger was stabbed into his heart and someone was twisting it, and twisting…

'Don't worry.'

'I'm sorry?'

'He won't claim her. He'll just have fun and let her go. He does that with all girls.'

'Uhm… OK.'

Peter took a sip from his significantly warmer beer.

'Sam Strickland, senior cadet.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'That I've been doing my job better than Hudson… Uhm, the guy who was responsible for your area back on the mainland?'

'I remember him.'

'It's OK, Keenan, Senor Ketonna tolerates it if his people get sticky, it's normal.'

'Good to know,' said Peter flatly.

The cadet, blond, in his late twenties, came closer and started speaking even quieter.

'Just use condom. Always!'

'I'd say you sound like my mother but I don't have one, so…'

'You see this guy, the dark-haired muscular stud? Name's Al Hogan, used to be one of the most merciless hitmen on this side of the Pond.'

'So what?' Peter gave himself annoyed look.

'If you look to the right, the Malaysian talking to Mr Lee? She's Ranna Gar, a famous sniper and killer for hire.'

'Well?'

'Well… they got sticky and without protection. Now they have a baby girl and the mother is allowed to see her once a week, the father – once a month.'

Peter's eyes widened.

'Yep. They were like you, Keenan, free, no family, no friends, nothing. They were on contract. Ketonna's afraid of those, but hires them if they're good. Now he has both of these two on a leash and they do some of the dirtiest stuff a mercenary can do.'

'Where's the baby?'

'Somewhere in the house, God knows; this place's like a damn labyrinth. Never mind…' Strickland took a sip from his wine. 'Just be careful, and… uhm…'

Now he looked Peter straight in the eyes.

'A handsome man like you…'

The handsome man felt sickness rising in his stomach.

'…you know, call me. Time here can pass very slowly sometimes…'

'I'll keep you in mind.'

Strickland winked and left. Peter wasn't sure if the kid was a victim or was enjoying it. Maybe both…

Suddenly the chair to his right that used to be occupied by Tara got taken by the hot Mexicana he spotter earlier.

'Hello, gorgeous.'

'Want a drink?' He poured her tequila.

'You seem lonely.'

'Aren't we all?'

She looked at him baffled for a second but quickly switched to the previous purring voice.

'I can keep you company…'

Peter knew that all faces that pretended not to look at him were following every move he made. He didn't want to seem attached to Tara; it would mean weakness, and something for Ketonna to use. He couldn't allow that. So he just sank in the comfortable chair and allowed his new companion take away some of the piled tension.

She started playing with his shirt and undid the first button. Experienced finger tips slid beneath the thin cloth and started exploring his muscles, until they found a nipple.

Peter's mind was fixated on the dimply lit room on the second floor with wine-red curtains.

She was there. With a man nicknamed R.I.P. Only the very thought made him want to shout and break things. He could well forget about her and just enjoy himself. But was it worth it? Trust was something very important to them both and Tara had just asked for his. His brain said 'to Hell with it', but his heart spoke otherwise.

Just when his body inevitably started reacting to the sensual fingers, Peter's left hand grabbed the female and gently removed it.

'How about we do that later?'

'Do you want me to find you?'

He smiled. 'No… I'll find  _you_.'

'I like that.'

'Now go, have fun.'

Slightly disappointed she got up and headed back to Campos. He was far more receptive than Peter.

*****

An hour passed, maybe two. The light in the bedroom finally went off and soon two figures came down the stairs. The fiesta was in full speed, very few noticed them. Most of the guests had paired up, a particularly interesting couple being the Norwegian jiu-jitsu champion and the krav maga master. Peter thought they fit beautifully.

Tara appeared under the lights. Her skirt was not properly placed, her top was crooked and she was fixing messy hair while walking. The stabbing feeling in Peter's heart re-appeared.

When Tara nested back to her seat next to him she gave herself air like that place belonged to her. She opened the second bottle of Bacardi.

'You shouldn't have turned down the hot Mexicana, she seemed nice.'

'Perhaps not,' replied Peter coldly, not even questioning how Tara knew about his short-lived flirt. 'Maybe I should get back to her, what do you think?'

Despite the cold voice, he was half-joking…sort of… but for a moment Tara looked like she was going to burst into tears.

Peter wanted to apologise. Instead he drank.

'How was it?... Up there…'

'Honestly, better than I had ever hoped.'

Now it was his turn to get the puppy look. The lady, too, knew how to play the waiting game, and she plaid it well.

Before they had the chance to continue, Ketonna joined them. He was having a large lobster specially made for him, and enjoyed some ten-year old white wine. He groaned with pleasure.

'This is without doubt my most favourite tournament ever!'

Ketonna smacked and burped. 'God, that was amazing, hon!'

Peter was barely holding himself. A peak at Tara showed her content face. Whatever had happened there, she was pleased with the outcome. He looked with disgust at Ketonna and at last he saw it. The criminal's eyes were muddy, half-open. At first glance those were the eyes of someone who had had immense pleasure, but the trained look of a former cop saw otherwise.

Ketonna was spilling from his drink, his hands were way too shaky and he was obviously disoriented. Peter exhaled with tremendous relief. He was drugged; Thomas Ketonna was drugged, and whatever it was, it was still working.

Tara had gotten up, and returned with a glass of iced coffee.

'Why that?'

'My cocktail for you. You must be tired, and, Sir, the night is still young after all.'

'I'm tired, all right, and it's all your fault,' he teased.

Tara returned to her seat and shrugged. 'Sometimes I forget myself.'

Obediently Ketonna sipped from the refreshing drink and soon it was all gone. The caffeine brightened the dazed eyes. With a plotting grin Peter looked at Tara, his eyes telling her that everything was OK, he knew. She granted him another soft look and smiled.

Everything was all right in their world.

 

*******


	3. Be Careful What You Ask For

 

_June 11_

Peter was meditating when he felt someone coming. He had woken up feeling light. He went for a swim, welcomed another sunrise, he even did a small workout in the bungalow. Last evening had rejuvenated him with a new feeling of hope, one he hadn't had for many months.

When the knock came he pretended he was having a casual drink on his couch.

'Come in.'

'Good morning, Mr Keenan!'

'Good morning to you, too, Mr… Ketonna Senior?'

'That's right.'

'We missed you last night.'

'I am… an old man, I go to bed early. Now I've come to pick you up.'

'Where are we going?'

'You're invited to have breakfast with my son.'

'Oh… I'm honoured.'

'He has great expectations from you.'

'I have great expectations from him.' The older Ketonna smiled. 'Give me five minutes.'

Few minutes later the two were on their way to the Casa, on board a buggy. Peter realised he was enjoying himself.

*****

Ketonna's office was all in white, only the desk and chairs were as black as the night. The place looked like straight out from the head of Tim Burton.

It was a long room with many windows, much like a school room; it was overlooking the yard where the fiesta took place last night. There was even a fire-place with all sorts of trophies on the sill.

'Mr Keenan, good morning!'

'Good it is! …Where's the food?'

'Straight to the point, I like that,' grinned the criminal, obviously still satisfied with last night's shenanigans.

'I'm hungry.' Which was the very truth!

'I thought we'd have a quick chat and then have our breakfast on the balcony, what do you think?'

'Suits me,' he said and proceeded further. He was exploring the multitude of objects in the room and inevitably his eyes found the only photography in the bunch.

That was it!

Every decision, every little detail… Every single event and decision from the last year and a half, from the last 33 years perhaps, had been taking him to  _this_  moment of  _that_ morning.

Peter's eyes doubled their size; he was actually close to falling into a state of shock. Involuntarily his arm stretched and held the photo without removing it from its place. A wave of emotions took over, his stomach turned, he developed palpitations.

'Do you like her?'

'She's gorgeous,' he answered spontaneously.

'My thoughts exactly,' said Ketonna, and sat with a groan in his leather chair. Then even he sensed Keenan's tension.

'Mr Keenan?'

Peter felt the eyes examining him. He also realised that the whole mission hung on his behaviour during the next few seconds.

'Betsy Milkow.'

'What?'

He forced a smile and looked at Ketonna. 'Betsy Milkow, my first love.'

'Oh… Mercenaries have feelings, too?'

'Surprising, isn't it?' He left the picture but kept looking at it.

'When I think that I was ready to turn the page because of her…'

'What happened?'

'I killed her.'

That was the first answer that came to his mind, but it worked.

'I won't even ask…'

'I got paid,' said Peter almost innocently.

'Right. So… this Betsy… does she look like my Laura?'

Peter shivered.

'She looks like the girl on the photo, yes, and… and I don't mean only the fiery hair. Her… her name is Laura?'

'Yep. And, a fire woman indeed.'

'I didn't imagine you a married man, Ketonna,' said Peter and finally sat on the offered chair. He had to, his knees couldn't hold him any longer.

'Why is that everyone who sees that photo thinks I'm married?!'

'Well, the custom…'

'Screw the custom,' shouted Ketonna.

'Sorry… Perhaps we should drop the subject?'

Peter detected the anger, and just had to try.

'She's not my wife.' He wiped his nose. 'She had to be… The bitch betrayed me.' He wiped his mouth. 'And she paid.'

He said that with a flat, cold voice, and looked Peter straight in the eyes. Peter knew if he moved eyes away now, he was dead.

'I take it that's what happens to anyone who betrays you…'

'Anyone! Remember that… if you're going to work for me.'

'Am I going to work for you?'

Ketonna threw a stack of papers in front of him.

'There, your contract.'

Peter explored the important pages first.

'You find me expensive, I'm flattered.'

'That's only the fixed pay. You get per cent for every successful mission.'

'That's what Daddy likes to hear,' grinned Peter, and licked lips.

Somehow he buried the image of his mother's photography gracing the fireplace of a mafia boss. The best use he'd had of his Shaolin training so far.

'Well?'

Peter left the papers back on the desk.

'You offer me that before the Tournament is even over?'

'I don't think anyone will beat you…'

'But you're not sure. And I…,' Peter leaned closer, 'like for my employers to know what they're buying. I'll sign it after the Tournament. I want to see how much I cost in case I do  _not_  win.'

'Keenan, you're obviously a brilliant fighter, and as we saw, a remarkable marksman. I don't care if you end up on the last place of the Tournament.'

Peter winked. 'But in case I win, I may ask for more…'

Ketonna opened mouth to say something and then just laughed out loud.

'I like you, Keenan, I like you.'

He stretched hand towards Peter who had no other choice but to return the gesture.

'Now, shall we eat?'

'Definitely!'

Peter had no desire to eat but he was still under suspicion. So, he had to eat, drink, and enjoy himself, at least as long as he was in Ketonna's sight.

As they passed by the fireplace he took a peak at the photo.

'One thing I don't get…'

'What?'

'If she betrayed you, why do you keep her picture? To remind you not to make the same mistake again, or for some pervert masochistic reasons?

Ketonna sneered. 'What, don't you get it? Oh, c'mon!.. Look.'

He approached the fireplace. 'This is exposition of my private collection, my finest possessions. Houses, boats, cars… women…'

'There's only one woman.'

'She's a very special woman, from some very special times.'

'I saw the cars… The house… Do you keep her around here, too?' he chuckled.

'I would have, she got away. But I still consider her the finest ornament of my collection. I love wild things… and man, she's untameable.'

Peter's fist tightened. One hit. One punch, in the throat, it would finish him in seconds.

The Shaolin put his left arm in the pocket and gulped. He was trembling.

'Jeez, Keenan, you're pale. Do you have a net in your room…'

'I'm fine,' lied Peter. 'Low blood sugar.'

'At least now I know you're human…' Ketonna patted Peter on the shoulder. 'Let's go eat.'

*****

Peter barely made it to the door. One soldier drove him back to his bungalow and he eventually found the strength to wish him good day and get in. Afterwards he rushed to the bathroom. By the time he was done throwing up his stomach was as empty as his heart.

On auto-pilot he washed and staggered back to the room, where he collapsed on the floor.

It was too much. This was too much. Peter could practically feel the last bits of sanity draining out of his head. He was leaning on the covered with drying herbs couch, his head buried under his trembling hands.

He couldn't cry, no reason. It was the realisation, the discovery. He actually  _knew_  something from his mother's past and it included her being involved with one of the most dangerous crime lords in the world.

Peter tried to think; in vain, his head was too empty. It could have been a self-preservation reaction, but there was no way he could think of this right now. There was work to be done and he still hadn't the slightest idea how and when it would end.

Then a thought crept in. These were Kermit's words shortly before they split on top of that hill.  _'Woodword won't let a needle fall on that island before his man retrieves Ketonna's files and destroys the data base.'_

Still nauseous Peter got up. He had to find Tara.

*****

He had seen it many times on TV but never thought he would get to live it.

Tara was not in her bungalow so naturally Peter went along the coastline. Water was drawing him like a magnet and he couldn't help noticing that the few meetings they had were always by the sea.

Peter walked to the same place they met last evening. There was no one on the beach but a white towel. A minute later he spotted movement in the water and, there she was. For a moment he forgot to breathe. Like Aphrodite rising from the sea Tara came out of the water. She appeared to have thick and very long hair which ran well below the shoulders. Her black swimsuit blended with the black hair and exposed gracious, long legs. Peter didn't even spot those. He was too mesmerised by the sheer sight of the woman who had enchanted him. The reflection of the sunlight kissing the wet skin made her look not-of-this-world.

When she spotted him, Tara stopped; she was just squeezing the water off her hair. She kept doing it, only her eyes remained fixated on the tall man on top of the dune. He had been so stunned that he even forgot to take his sun glasses off. When he finally moved, to take his glasses, so did she. She smiled.

Finally Peter felt welcome, and walked down to the beach.

'Good morning!'

'Good it is,' greeted Tara, and picked her towel.

'Do you swim every day?'

'Only when I'm on lonely islands owned by creepy mafia bosses.'

They laughed.

'You swim, too?'

'Yes, but the sun wasn't fully out of the water yet when I headed back for my den.'

'A morning person…'

'A Shaolin person.'

'That says it all,' she grinned and they both laughed again.

It was awkward, in light of last evening's events. Peter was eager to ask questions and Tara was more than ready to answer them.

'I…'

'I…'

They were forced to take another of those uncomfortable breaks.

'How are you feeling this morning?' Peter decided to try different strategy.

'Depends from where you look at it. But speaking professionally, the first and probably most important part of my mission is over.'

Peter gulped.

'And now?'

'The final countdown.'

This was a painful realisation. The countdown was not only for the mission, it was for them also.

Peter nodded.

'Good job.'

'Thanks. I guess…'

Tara started drying her steaming hair.

'Perhaps I should ask  _you_  how you feel, I saw you leaving for the Casa earlier.'

'I survived that. Actually… do you have a few minutes?'

'Sure. Something bothering you?'

She was dearly hoping he would ask her about last night. They were running out of time; the last thing Tara wanted was to part like that.

Absently Peter played with the sand, then sat. With a soft smile he looked at Tara, which was the polite invitation for her to join. She spread her towel, and sat next to him.

'How well do you usually prepare for a mission?'

'As well as humanly possible.' She didn't expect that question.

'And… you research your targets well? I mean… in depth.'

'Yes, I've been through everything available about Ketonna. What do you need to know?'

Pleasantly surprised, Peter had never thought communicating with a woman can be so… easy.

'Well… Private stuff.'

'Oh?'

'You know… Is he married, are there any children we must expect to come back and seek revenge, stuff like that.'

'You're weird.'

'I quit the Force to become a priest, Tara. I think that sums it up pretty well.'

She laughed.

'True… Let me see… No children, according to my sources. And…' She paused. 'Well… no wife, either…'

'You're not certain?'

'Of all things I know, you're asking about the most obscured one.'

'So… he's married?'

'The thing is, back in the 60s he's been spending a lot of time in LA and San Francisco…'

'You go 30 years back?'

'I never intended to go there, but that's where things went when I started checking his 'partners in crime'.'

'All right, go on.'

'One of them is well known face to Interpol, Walter Fitzroy. I wanted to track the roots of their 'partnership' and it turned out Ketonna has been engaged to Fitzroy's sister.'

'Fitzroy…'

'Do you know of them?'

'No, never heard the name.'

'They are, or were, a very wealthy family from San Francisco. I never found any relation between Ketonna and their wealth, though.'

'So, should we expect to find an imprisoned wife in the Casa?'

'That's the thing, Ketonna never married Laura Fitzroy.'

'Who?' Peter pretended he hadn't heard well.

'Oh, that's the name of the woman, Laura Fitzroy.'

He gulped.

'She got lucky then.'

'I guess… Whatever had happened to her, it must have been better than getting in the hands of that monster.'

'Don't tell me you didn't research her, too' teased Peter.

'I tried. That's the odd part – I tried and found nothing. The woman is like a phantom.'

'I thought you guys have access to all sorts of data.'

'So did I. But all I found was that in 1964 Ketonna has been in business relations with Maxwell Fitzroy, Walter's father; then Maxwell goes bankrupt. There's a transaction on Ketonna's name from that same year for 1 million dollars and then slowly he starts pulling from the US and relocating here.'

'What has that got to do with the lady?'

'Well, that 1 million has been transferred to a Swiss account on Maxwell's name three months earlier, and that's when his name begins to get associated with Miss Fitzroy who is mentioned as Max's daughter.'

'So… what are you saying?'

'This has been some very strange scam. And in the process, I uncovered family tragedies that make South-American soap operas look like simple, every-day stories.'

'I won't make you tell me the whole thing.'

'Don't. We won't have time, and I don't know it all anyway.'

'Right. So, Ketonna was engaged to Maxwell Fitzroy's daughter and then the deal went south.'

'Sort of, only that she's not Maxwell's kid, well she is, on paper. In fact, she's the illegitimate daughter and sole heir of Sir Lawrence Fitzroy, the family patriarch and Maxwell's older brother.'

Peter gaped.

'I told you.'

'So… one Fitzroy tried to trade the daughter of another Fitzroy?'

'That's about right, yeah.'

'That makes me sick…'

'I know, me too.'

'Then what, Ketonna killed her?'

'I checked that. And when all other sources failed, I tried the one that never goes wrong, rumours.'

'And…'

'The word of mouth has it that back in the 60s the heiress of the Fitzroy fortune, that is Laura, is supposed to marry a wealthy trader, that is Ketonna. However, she calls it off, and leaves with someone else instead. Classic.'

Peter exhaled quietly. The relief was overwhelming.

'Marrying anyone is better than Ketonna.'

'Don't jump into conclusions; there's no marriage certificate.'

He gaped again.

'You're stunned.'

'No, I… I can't believe you've checked even that.'

'I had to, I wanted to make sure she's not held hostage somewhere. But... I found nothing. Laura Fitzroy disappears off the records in that same year, 1964. No address registration, no marriage certificate, no ID, nada.'

'How is that possible?'

'Woodword checked it himself; even he couldn't track it down. Apparently someone has been through a great deal of trouble to make sure that Laura won't be discovered.'

'Witness protection?'

'Don't underestimate me, it's the first place I looked. No.'

Peter's expression darkened.

'Why would someone do that?'

'If she was hiding, I'd understand...'

'…From Ketonna?'

'It's possible but, like I said, I found no further evidence of any connections between them. Only somewhere in late 60s begin first transactions between Ketonna and Walter Fitzroy, Laura's brother.'

'But you said she wasn't the other guy's daughter.'

'No, they're of the same mother.'

'Wha…' Peter grabbed his head. 'You're kidding me?'

'I told you, soap opera…'

He was silent. This was a lot of information to digest. In 10 minutes Peter Caine had learned about his birth mother more than he had in 32 years… He almost forgot about Tara.

'Hey...'

'Uhm? Oh, sorry, drifted away.'

'I noticed.'

'I do that a lot,' he said apologetically.

'That's all right,' said Tara casually, 'people do that.'

Peter stared at her unbelieving. He was so used to angry women storming out of the room when his mind drifted, that he had no idea what to do in case they didn't; it had never happened to him before.

This time Tara didn't succumb to the honest, hazel eyes. She got up.

'Did I say something?'

'N-no… No, I have to go.'

'Tara, wait.'

Peter grabbed her by the arm but quickly let it go when she glared at him.

'I was thinking about yesterday…'

'There was nothing between me and Ketonna.' She took defensive position immediately.

'This? Oh, I know, I... I saw.' He smiled. 'I meant… before, here, on the beach. What you said… you made me worried.'

Tara would have much rather have him ask jealous questions about her and Ketonna.  _That_  she could handle; another man's care and attention – she had no experience with those.

'Peter…'

The hazel eyes won. Peter was allowed close to her, dangerously close. This time she actually forgot her thoughts while his warm look was devouring her. Tara's face got a tender expression; she was incapable of hiding anymore how she felt. Her brain was still too afraid of admitting it, but heart knows no logic.

Kiss me, she thought.

Every fibre of Peter's body wanted to hold her and kiss her.

Nothing happened.

Every logical thought had ceased in Peter's spinning head. The shocking discoveries of the last two hours were all forgotten. He just stood there, staring at her, and for the first time during their short acquaintance he realised how much familiar to him she was; he thought he had looked in those eyes before. But he let go even that, time and space had lost meaning.

Tara felt the same way.

They were frozen, there under the blinding sun. It felt like ages. They did nothing but look at each other, numb, unable to think or move; they just… sank into each other's eyes and each saw the reflection of their own hearts. This time neither ran away from it. They were aware of it and they admitted that awareness to the other.

Peter's hand, the same that stopped Tara from leaving, started lifting again. Shyly his fingertips touched her arm and moved back. She looked at them. She meant to respond, God, how she craved to respond and at least touch them.

'I have to go.'

'Please, let me help you.'

'And you, please, don't go Shaolin on me.'

'It has nothing to do with me being Shaolin,' whispered Peter almost hurt. Tara knew that very well, yes she said it, and regretted afterwards.

'You're exhausted… emotionally.'

'I have enough to pull me through tomorrow.' Her freshened looks from earlier were gone; her eyes suddenly looked like she hadn't slept for ages.

'What about after tomorrow?'

'Is there going to be 'after tomorrow'?'

'There may be.'

'I'll think about it if I get there…'

'You will… You can get there, and beyond, just… just don't give up.'

She blinked with tired air.

'Sorry… I…  **I'm not strong, I'm tired of being strong** ,' she continued, this time in Cantonese.

' **Then let** ** _me_** **be the strong one.** '

Tara never thought it possible to hear those words, at least not in reality. She hadn't even dreamt to meet a man who'd actually want or be able to do that. Men were usually either afraid of her, or completely in her power.

 **'I'm on my own, Shi, always.** '

Tenderly Peter smiled when she called him by the Chinese translation of his name; he had heard it only once before and he didn't thing he'd hear it again.

**'Me too, but it doesn't need be that way.'**

He opened his arms, as if inviting her.

**'I will be strong for you.'**

The opened arms resembled a trap. Though what he had just said was the reply to her dearest prayers, she couldn't do it.

'I'm all messed up, Peter, just leave me alone. You don't want to have anything to do with me,' she said in English, and prepared to leave.

'I am to be the judge of that.'

Having said that Peter tried to take her hand in his but she pulled almost panicked.

'Keep away!' She sounded almost threatening.

Peter turned his back. All he heard was the light steps on the ever hotter sand, moving further away from him.

'Tara, I'm all messed up as well,' he whispered.

A tear ran down the bloodless face.

 

*******


	4. A Moment in Time

  
 

Peter spent most of the day on his own. He walked a lot. Many of the fighters who had qualified for the finals were enjoying the sun, swimming or flirting. The shooting competition for the rookie shooters took place that afternoon and access to the Casa was closed. So much the better. The almost wild forest that ran along the sea, starting with the northern part where the bungalows were, and ending beyond the inhabited part of the island, was almost entirely to himself.

Right now Peter, too, was struggling to find the reason. After tomorrow, after the battle was finished and lots have been taken about who lives and who dies, what happens after tomorrow?

For a few blissful hours, scattered in several eventful days, this Shaolin priest thought, only barely, that maybe, maybe there could be happiness for him, too. This strange thing he and Tara had going on, he took it as it came. None of them, he was certain, made plans about life beyond the Island. First of all, they didn't know if there would be any life. And what if there were?

Peter had spent this one week preparing for the likelihood of never coming home. He was ready. Well, spending 12 years of his life in a game of Russian roulette with Death certainly helped for that… readiness. And what if they both lived to see the sun rise on June 13?

A part of his drained, lonely soul longed to jump head-first into the powerful storm of feelings raging inside his heart, a storm he found ever more difficult to keep in check.

Another part, the logical one, wanted to leave it all on the Island, and then everyone would go their way, and casually pretend those last days never happened.

*****

At about five o'clock Peter found himself at a secluded spot just before the black rocks. It was outside the hidden bay he and Tara had found two days ago. To the left was the giant rock formation. To the right it was all sand, sea and the sweet freshness from the forest that was spreading like a green wall along the coastline. A giant solitary palm tree was incongruously growing on the beach itself, stranded more than five metres away from its siblings, its hairy body surrounded by nothing else but golden sand.

Peter liked it; it reminded him of himself.

'You're lonely, aren't you,' he murmured. 'Mind some company?'

He sat under the crooked, massive body. Briefly he considered which view was more pleasant, the sea ahead, or the golden rays of the setting sun piercing through the forest humidity behind him. He chose the sea.

It occurred to him that the only other moment of the day he had spent still was his lunch, which he had an hour ago in his bungalow. He never sought the company of other fighters and the only person whose presence he craved was nowhere to be seen.

The stillness put order in Peter's thoughts. As a result he was forced to face what he'd been avoiding the whole day. The chaos of feelings he was facing was not caused only by the extraordinary Chinese woman he had met. Flashing images of the photo in Ketonna's office started harassing him along with the heaps of information on Laura Fitzroy that Tara had supplied him with.

He couldn't tell her. Despite everything, talks of trust and all, Peter couldn't tell Tara that Laura Fitzroy was his mother. Hell, he had to figure it himself first. His mother engaged to a crazed criminal. And then, what had he meant by 'She paid'? 'She got away'? Ketonna  _still_  considered her  _the finest ornament of his collection_? The apparent answer shone so bright that Peter preferred to pretend he didn't see it. Considering Ketonna somehow responsible for his mother's death was far easier to swallow than… No! That was impossible, unthinkable. He was not even going to consider it, not until his father was back and they could talk it over and close the subject for good.

For some reason thinking now about his mother and the new discoveries about her didn't make Peter physically sick the way it did in the morning. The ex-cop's self-preservation instinct, so perfectly trained into dealing with shocking discoveries made in the worst of times, had simply added this new bit of information to the rest of stuff, emotional and physical, that was to be dealt with when…. _if_  he was to be out of here. And the pile was growing.

*****

Sitting with arms wrapped around his knees Peter was watching the motionless water, his mind equally still.

Peter didn't know what he sensed first – the presence of another person's chi, or the displacement of the air it caused. The sun was heading west so what he saw when he turned was only a silhouette. It was good enough. He smiled lightly and then let go. Would she shout at him? Talk to him? Or would she just reveal the plan for the final push? It didn't matter. He would still take it as it came.

Tara was almost dragging her feet through the sand, yet she stepped light but firm. The baggy linen trousers combined with the tight sleeveless top made her slim waist look even slimmer and her long arms - even longer. She was holding a pair of sandals. The thick black hair had been negligently tied above the neck; flocks of it were falling playfully on her shoulders. Dancing with the light breeze they formed a golden halo around her head.

From Peter's point of view there no colours, no face, not even eyes. It was the silhouette of the Goddess that had mesmerised him, finished to perfection by the shimmering halo around her head.

For the first time in his life Peter Caine was not interested in a woman's appearance; he hadn't even noticed those little but significant details that once would cause a stir in every bit of his body. To him Tara was a pair of endless black eyes in the depths of which he had seen a soul ancient, pure and beautiful.

The subtle feeling that he had known those eyes and that soul before he had suppressed from the beginning; it was not the time and place for deja-vu.

In the meantime Tara had come close enough for Peter to distinguish her face features. She didn't have the look of a fighter. Her face was pale, the gaze sad. The big dark eyes looked lifeless. Her whole body was unusually relaxed. Peter didn't even change his position. He only looked, waiting for her to say whatever it was she felt like saying.

'I can't, Peter… I'm empty.'

A hand opened and the sandals fell.

'I'm so tired,' cried out Tara, practically on the brink of tears.

Peter didn't utter a sound. He just opened arms.

This time she gave up. Softly Tara dropped to her knees and crawled towards him, resembling an upset little girl seeking protection.

They exchanged a brief look.

'Take from my strength,' he said quietly. 'I have enough for both.'

And then Tara turned and leaned back on Peter's chest. He didn't move. Realising he had a scared wild animal in his arms, Peter kept completely still. His arms remained on the knees, the eyes were still exploring the horizon. Only his face changed; he was smiling.

At first tense, as soon as her body felt Peter's warmth, Tara started calming down. The Shaolin's chi was so powerful she completely forgot the shyness from the obvious sexuality of their closeness. This went deeper than carnal instincts and they both knew it.

She leaned head on the base of his neck. While nesting in his lap she had to touch his legs but nothing happened. He didn't stir, nor did he try to touch her or strangle her or do her any harm. The expectation that anyone who'd see her week would try to harm her, result of the life she had had, started receding. As a consequence her body slowly relaxed and obediently followed the shape of Peter's posture.

Words weren't necessary. Words would spoil the moment, an absolutely perfect moment in time. Tara felt safe like never before. Her exhausted body and the even more drained mind were entirely left for Peter to take care of. Her left hand remained relaxed on Peter's leg, the other was resting on her chest. As she became more aware of her surroundings the first thing she felt was his breath. He had even breathing, as a Shaolin should, and with every breath out he was caressing her neck and right shoulder. The second thing she felt was his heartbeat. At first she had been too nervous to feel it pace up the moment their bodies touched, but she could feel it now. It was a steady and strong heartbeat and before she knew it, Tara's own heart took up the rhythm, and soon two lonely hearts were beating like one.

Peter was at ease. True, the sensation of feeling the weight of Tara's body almost brought him heart-attack, but once his unbelieving mind got used to the idea, he felt peace. This was something he'd probably never felt before, this feeling of wholness. When Tara laid head on his chest, it was as if nothing else existed but this beach, and this moment, and this woman. The world beyond was gone. Life home was gone, his problems, his feelings of failure and betrayal – all gone. During those minutes, or was it hours, nothing was wanting in Peter Caine's life. After all, in his arms he held everything he needed.

A slightly stronger flush of wind lifted playfully Tara's hair; the woman shuddered. Peter moved hand, intending to put the tickly hairs back to their place and immediately she tensed up. He felt her hand being ready to respond to a potential attack. But he didn't blame her; it had become clear that whatever her life, it had made her unable to trust anyone, and he was really flattered that she allowed him such intimacy.

Peter's hand stopped midways, then slowly moved up to the head and Tara felt what she believed to be the most tender and careful caress her aching head had ever experienced. With great care Peter smoothed her thick hair; his strokes resembled someone touching glass surface, so tender they were.

That done, his arm went back to its position, at least close. His knee relaxed a little, his arm found the gap between his and Tara's body, and carefully nested. She smiled. Her comfort was perfect. So perfect that she drifted into a nap.

*****

Some time later the wind was caressing the bare feet. Tara opened eyes unaware how long she had slept. The sun was not visible any longer but the sky was still bright. She felt rejuvenated and light. Then the young woman inevitably remembered where she was. Her head was still resting on Peter's chest, his breath was still warming her skin, and the warmth of his body was still engulfing her. His right leg was now parallel to hers and his left hand was holding her through the waist, her own hand lying on top of it.

Tara wondered whether Peter had fallen asleep, too, and moved. Immediately his face leaned on top of her and she saw the corner of a playful smile.

'Wake up, sleeping beauty.'

She melted at the sound of those words. Their eyes met, again briefly. They laughed at their situation, both romantic and amusing, and then Tara felt Peter's cheek rubbing on her hair. She was in Heaven.

'Did you sleep?'

'No way.'

'Why?'

'You need sleep more than I do; had to make sure that nothing disturbs it.'

She purred quietly and nested. For the first time in her adult life someone had been watching over her sleep. Yes, this must be how Heaven felt like.

'Feeling better?'

'Better? I'm reborn!' she said blissfully.

Peter smiled.

'What I wanted to hear,' he replied contently.

There was an urgent subject hanging above them and talking about it was inevitable.

''What's wrong?' asked Tara, and turned head slightly, trying to grasp at little from Peter's expression.

'What makes you think something's wrong?'

'I don't know, I can feel it. Something about you changed. What happened?'

'You can feel that?'

'Apparently I can. I could also yesterday, but never got around to telling you.'

'What could you feel?'

'You were upset by my 'thing' with Ketonna, and I'm really sorry, but it had to be done.'

He chuckled. 'What did you give him?'

'A cocktail… Based on sodium amatol.'

'I see. It tickles the tongue.'

'And the imagination, too, especially if you feed that imagination.'

'Cool.'

'Peter… You don't really believe I would…'

Silence.

'N-no… I… didn't want to, I…'

'I'd never do that.'

'I know,' he said, and a finger caressed her hip. 'I trust you.'

Her head wen backwards and gently pressed Peter's chest. He kissed the head.

That  _was_  Heaven.

'I was thinking… You said  _countdown_ …'

'My job here is done, the cavalry will be here tomorrow.'

'They want Ketonna alive I guess.'

'Dead or alive; dead, if you ask me.'

'Is there a plan?'

'Yes, we'll talk later. Make sure you have your stuff packed. My subordinates know which our bungalows are; in case we don't manage, others will collect our belongings.'

'I'm honoured.'

'About what?'

'That you thought of me…'

'Of course, Shi, we're a team.'

Peter giggled like a little boy.

'I love…' Tara's heart stopped. '….it when you call me like that.' She could breathe again.

'It suits you.'

Nobody said anything for a while. The splashing waves accompanied by the whistling wind were the only sound.

'So…' said Peter barely heard, 'tomorrow it ends.'

Tara gulped. 'Tomorrow it ends.'

This time two pairs of eyes were wet and their owners were more reluctant than ever to look at each other.

'Please, promise me you'll fight,' he said with a trembling voice.

'And you promise me you'll live.'

Peter held tight his eyes.

'Only if you…' he whispered in her ear.

Then he moved. His hands lifted and wrapped the lean body. He held her so strong like he wanted to glue her body to his.

Tara had forgotten completely her earlier mistrust. She didn't resist. Her hands held the strong arm that has hugging her chest, and held it tight. She rubbed head on his neck and nested even closer. Peter didn't know what to do with his hands. Wrapping them around her body was not enough. He was caressing her face, holding her head and pressing it against his chest, then back wrapping them around her body.

Whatever he did, it was not enough, she was not close enough. Tomorrow was still going to come and no matter how close he held her now, nothing could prevent Providence from taking her away from him the next day.

Until now Providence had claimed everything Peter Caine ever cared for. Like some supreme power up there had decided that he was not allowed even a little bit of happiness, not even the ordinary, simple happiness of being with someone, that most people blindly took for granted.

'Only if you,' he whispered again.

They remained like that for a little bit more. Time, so generously given to them before, was now the enemy. It was inexorably slipping away; every second was moving them closer to the unknown and inevitable – tomorrow.

 

*******


	5. Rage of the Crane

 

 

_June 12_

_12:30 p.m._

_He sensed a presence and got up. Behind him he heard the clicking of a loaded gun._

**_*_ **

_11:20 am_

Darkness. Silence. He was running. His legs couldn't hold any longer, every breath was burning his lungs, yet he kept running. The thirst for life gives one unfathomable powers.

Then the light came. There was always light. He never saw its source, not once for the past 30 years, but it was there. He crumbled amidst whiteness; the walls of darkness seemed distant under the luminous radiance. But the light gets too bright. And the darkness, it's darker than ever. And again he couldn't decide if he should keep running or stay and be blinded.

And again it's too late. He hears the roar, quiet, close; t's the tiger. He turns the other way and there are two red, shining circles, mean furnaces from hell, ready to devour his soul - the dragon. Now is the worst. The giant cat jumps and he's nailed to the ground. But the predator doesn't bit his artery, it breaths into his face and then one move of his paw – he's cut open. He doesn't die, he's punished to witness and feel how every piece of his flesh disappears in the cat's mouth.

He screams without a voice. But he can hear, and he can see. The reptile is coming closer now, it's circling them, waiting for his turn in this macabre feast on human flesh. Its shiny, scaly body is now erected above him. Here the tiger stops its meal. The bloody face leans above; they both do. The dragon waves wings darker than the night, the tiger roars, the dragon hisses, they come closer.

And closer…

Darkness.

Thomas woke up with a sigh. After so many years of the same nightmare he had learned not to scream, he just woke up quietly now. And he slept so – every night, every damned night since the 60s, was like waiting for the sentence. And it always came – the same nightmare, the same scenario, the same ending.

Ketonna listened. Was this a gun shot? He was too lazy to go open the curtain. Then he turned to see his father's disfigured face sitting not far from the bed.

'I came to warn you.'

'Something's going's down, isn't it?'

'Yes.'

Thomas sighed.

'All these years I've been expecting the dream to omen my death… At last it did.'

'I won't allow it!'

'Oh, look at my Daddy, taking care of his little boy…'

'Thomas… Please!'

Ketonna looked the burned face severely.

'Should I die today, I'll have nobody to trust, I have no son to inherit me… Because of YOU!'

'You could have had son…'

'That's right,  _her_  son. Since she refused to bear me children I could have had hers, and then you screwed up.'

'We thought they had left for China. We've been through this before, Thomas.'

Ketonna got up.

'Yeah? And what happened when we found out they were still in the temple, ha?'

Silence.

'That's right. I wanted the boy, and you killed him.'

'It wasn't my fault, son. Many were killed…'

Ketonna lifted hand to hit the old man when another gunshot echoed in the silence. And then another, until the silence was no more.

*****

_11:00 a.m._

The final part of the tournament was supposed to start today. However Fate, and some Interpol and CIA agents to the side, had decided otherwise.

'OK, we're here.'

Jake and some of his colleagues had just arrived. Peter had told him to bring 'his most trusted ones'. Phil Dane was one, Peter also recognised his new friend from the fiesta, Sam Strickland. Another member of the group was Ranna Gar, the woman Peter had been told was forcefully kept apart from her child.

'You say you can get us out of here?' said Ranna first. Her face was serious, the eyes – anxious. She might have been anything in the past, but right now all Peter saw was a concerned mother.

'We can… but only if  _you_  help, too,' Peter said.

The group of imprisoned fighters was numb. They had never managed to reach a level of unity that would allow them to fight. Besides, Ketonna's paid army was a serious obstacle.

'Do the others know?' asked Tara.

'They've been told,' said Jake. 'But… they preferred to do their job until…'

'Something happens?' guessed Peter.

'Yeah.'

'They're afraid, it's normal.'

'Well… say what you have to say,' insisted Ranna and looked around anxiously. The guard on the roof was supposed to pass in less than 5 minutes, that was her guard. If she was caught doing anything wrong, anything at all, she might not see her daughter for another week, if not more.

'The thing is, guys, we have a plan.' Tara made a few steps and this time everyone saw the holstered gun she had. 'We have a schedule… and we have back-up on the way.'

The group remained quiet, only their eyes had livened up.

'And it's about time you stepped up. Because, if it was only about Ketonna, we would have gotten rid of him long time ago.'

'We're not exactly the most united of groups, Sonya,' said Jake in a low voice.

'This will change. This is your freedom, guys. The men who are coming here are not as many as Ketonna's army. All they want is him, and if they can set some of you free, too, it would be all right; but you're not their priority. You're ours,' she said and stepped closer to Peter. 'And it's just the two of us. If you don't step up and fight for your freedom… we're all doomed.'

'We've been thinking about this,' said Dane, 'but we needed also good timing, you know, opportunity.'

'Opportunity is now,' spoke Peter, 'the only one.'

'May I join?' It was Aaron Dayan, the Israeli krav maga master. Peter had informed him about their situation and both he and Tara agreed that this was the perfect moment to use his military training.

Immediately Tara opened the black bag she had and handed him a shotgun, then a 39 mm.

'Glad you could make it.'

'I overslept, heavy night,' he said and winked while loading his new toys.

Next thing Tara handed Peter a gun. He hesitated.

'You don't need to use it… But I'll feel much better if you have it. Please?'

He consented. Shivers ran down his spine when his waist sensed the familiar weight of holstered weapon. The collision of the two worlds he knew had never felt more tangible.

In that moment a group of three soldiers was heading towards the fighters. They had chosen to gather not far for from the Casa, their intended battle field.

Everybody saw the approaching group.

'Well, folks?' asked Tara.

'The opportunity is now,' said Jake and released his gun's safety guard.

'You heard the man,' said Ranna and did the same.

Peter and Tara welcomed the soldiers with victorious smiles. Behind them they saw a fourth one, Chan. He lingered behind but the gun he was holding didn't suggest friendly intentions.

'What's up, folks?' inquired Rob Campos in a loud voice.

'Just chatting,' said Peter and made a step to the left.

'How neat,' replied Campos and took his gun.

Peter made another step. 'Actually, we thought you might want to join us…'

'What are we doing?' grinned Campos, and released the safety guard.

'What you all want to do but never got the chance to.'

Finally Peter stood in front of Tara, placing himself between her and the path of potential gun fire from the edgy squad.

'The chance is now, soldier Campos, now or never.'

'Chance for what?' Campos gulped and pretended he didn't notice the drops of sweat that glittered on his forehead.

Until that day Peter had only seen his father do that; he never knew how it worked, or what kind of skill it took. Now he just… saw it, Campos's chi, his thoughts and feeling reflected in it, thoughts of another…

'…Chance to see your daughter.'

The sturdy Mexican turned white. Instead of firing, however, when Peter stretched hand towards him, he shook it.

'I think we'll take the chance.'

The remaining soldiers prepared their weapons and came closer to each other. Chan joined them from behind. After an awkward break he asked:

'So, what do we do?'

*****

_11:20 am_

Peter and Tara didn't get the opportunity to enter in too many details. Ranna Gar hadn't reported when she was supposed to; their little talk was interrupted by a soldier, one of Ketonna's personal squad. He came from the roof where he had a great view towards the strange group; the rest was reflex.

The man took his gun and shot. Peter barely reacted. He jumped on Tara, protecting her with his body, the bullet whizzed millimetres from his head, the rest was also reflex. He was still falling when automatically took his gun and shot, hitting the soldier's wrist… at least that's how it seemed from below, from very far below.

'It's game on, folks,' shouted Tara and started giving orders.

She'd been in this situation more than any woman in her mid-20s should be. The commands and the strategy had become her second nature.

Tara was about to storm for the house when she noticed Peter. The priest was standing completely still. He was still holding the gun, staring at the roof and the spot where the soldier he injured disappeared off sight.

'Peter?'

'I shot him…'

'But you didn't kill him.'

'I shot a man…'

'Peter!' He finally looked at her. 'You probably saved a life by doing what you did…my life…' She laid hand on his chest. 'You didn't kill him, that's what matters. Do you hear me?'

'Yes...'

'Can I count on you now?'

He smiled. 'Always!'

'OK… Let's go,' shouted Tara. She had to, the gun shots were getting frequent now, close, too.

Tara turned and ran. On the way she shot one guard in the leg and broke the arm of another who made the mistake to attack her from the back. Peter looked around. Soldiers started coming from all sides, and oddly enough, many of them began fighting between each other. Then he looked at the Casa. His first thought was to follow Tara, but the Shaolin heart won over the cop's. He headed for another area. Strickland had said the place was a labyrinth. Now all Peter had to do was concentrate and seek the chi he needed, a particularly strong and young one, the chi of a child.

*****

On the mainland townsfolk were preparing for the only time of the year when they would be allowed on the little, private island. This was when they heard the first shots.

The jolly group of gringos was also there. They panicked further when two helicopters came practically out of the hills. Amongst them only Jorje didn't stir. Instead he said something in English.

'Well, guys, it was a pleasure, I'll see you later.'

The men didn't answer, they didn't understand what he said, to begin with. Bewildered they followed the man's moves and amazed saw him taking from beneath his shirt a shining  _Desert Eagle_ , then replacing his black shades with what looked like a pair of green ones.

*****

On the second floor of the Casa Peter headed for the further-most door of a long hall. Behind him he had left five disarmed guards, ahead were two more who he took with two parallel punches to the throat.

A black massive door was on the way. After rubbing his hands Peter opened; inside was a Mexican woman, holding a revolver against the head of a five or six-month old girl. The woman was an old acquaintance.

'So, you found me.'

'Do you really want to do this?'

The baby was screaming.

'Do you even know what you're doing?'

'Yes… trying to save the life of an innocent child.'

'You're taking our lives away,' she hissed and held the gun tighter.

'Lives?'

'Do you know how many people Senor Ketonna is feeding? How many of us are dependent on him? He's a saint!'

'That's not for me to decide.'

'So, few greedy men are kept here, who cares. They've got everything,' continued the woman as if not hearing a word of what Peter said.

'Look… Whatever has gone wrong, this child shouldn't pay for it.'

'That's right,' grinned the woman madly. 'You will.'

She pointed the gun at Peter. He only shook head and lifted his palm against her; two seconds later the heated weapon fell on the floor.

'I'm sorry,' he said and jumped. The Mexicana tried to run with the baby but Peter was much faster. His left hand found her neck while the right was hugging the child. The woman dropped unconscious while Peter was on his way out.

In the hall a muscular dark-haired man stood in his way.

'You stay where you are.'

Peter took few seconds. 'Al Hogan?'

The man looked at him suspicious. 'I don't remember us being introduced…'

'It's not necessary,' smiled Peter and checked on the frightened baby cuddling in his arms. 'I've got something here which, I believe, is yours?'

Hogan's eyes filled. 'You don't work for Ketonna?'

'I….'

A loud explosion silenced Peter's voice. A minute later the two men were standing in the same place, the only change being a part of the wall missing. The baby was screaming again.

'There, take her,' said Peter softly and handed the girl to her father. Touched Hogan hugged his daughter and looked at Peter, his eyes filled with gratitude.

'Now go.'

'But the fight…'

'You need to stay alive.' Quickly Peter led the imprisoned fighter to a tiny staircase at the back.

'Down this way, you'll go at the back of the house. Just say your name, they know who you are.'

'What about Ranna?'

'I'll make sure she finds you. Now go!'

Hogan made a step and turned. 'Thank you… whoever you are.'

Peter winked and disappeared.

*****

It took Peter almost 15 minutes to go back outside. It was not just the two groups of armed guards he took care of, nor the weapon storehouse he had to blow up; the young Shaolin had to pay an urgent visit at Ketonna's office, as there was something invaluable he had to collect from there.

Outside the sky was barely visible. A layer of smoke was the cape covering the little war happening on the tiny patch of land. Woodword's commandos had landed on the island while submarines had the whole place surrounded by water. Ketonna's men, who were still on the mainland, tried to escape through the forest but Tara's strategy had foreseen even that.

Peter stormed out and was immediately attacked by two guards. With two punches to the throat and solar plexus respectively he sent them to sleep and looked around. A weird turn of events was that distinguishing between Ketonna's men and those fighting for their freedom was becoming steadily harder; ever more of the mob boss's paid soldiers were joining their imprisoned colleagues.

Through the smoke Peter recognised a known set of green glasses. They smiled at each other but then Kermit turned serious and slowly stretched for his gun.

'Down!' he shouted. Peter reacted. Kneeling low he turned and saw a soldier with a rifle falling dead.

'Glad you could join the party,' said Peter, trying not to think of the killed man.

'You know me, I'm a party animal,' said Kermit and patted his friend.

The two friends tried to find their way around. There were many men lying on the ground, some dead, some not, but more were those who were still to be found. Peter heard a familiar voice. Not far from the newly erected arena, meant to serve the tournament finals that were never to be held, there was Tara, wearing head-phones, with radio station in one hand and gun in the other.

'Unit 2 and 3, move to the centre.'

_'Yes, Commander.'_

'Unit 4, rapport.'

_'The lair is empty, Commander. I repeat, the lair is empty, the mouse is gone.'_

Tara was not happy. She was about to give another order when two soldiers approached her. She kicked one in the crotch and midways shot the other.

'Unit 4, spread… Cover all levels.'

_'Yes, Commander.'_

'What's up,' asked Peter who came running and managed to disarm another two attackers that were coming at her from the back. 'We lost 'the mouse'?'

'We lost it…Who's your friend?' she asked when Kermit joined the duo.

'Tara… Kermit. Kermit… Woodword's man.'

As was the custom when something astonished the ex-mercenary, Kermit took his glasses off. That Woodword's man was not a man he accepted. That she was a stunner, it was all right. But that she was young enough to be his daughter, that was too much.

'Hi, Woodword's man, Interpol,' she smiled and shook the stunned man's hand.

'Hi, Kermit,  _Pest Control_.'

Peter lifted head up.

'You know… I have an idea…' he said in a low voice and moved away from the group.

'Uh-oh…' said Kermit.

'Uh-oh…. What?' asked Tara.

'I know that look.'

'And… Whe…Where are you going? We've got the roof covered.'

'It's the wrong roof,' shouted Peter and headed for the further most building of the complex, the one he could see best from his bungalow.

Earlier he had found it kind of tacky that the corner building of Ketonna's Mexican mansion resembled a tower. Now it suddenly made sense. On his way up Peter made sure he had enough bullets, as he suspected he might need them. He also sensed that the relationship between Thomas Ketonna and the Caine family had reached  _Payday_.

*****

Peter arrived on the roof on time to see a helicopter preparing to land. On the other end Ketonna and his personal bodyguard were waiting. They didn't realise Peter was there until he shot at the landing machine. The bullet broke the glass and brushed the pilot's head. The sign was clear enough and the helicopter started lifting up without having even touched the ground.

In the meantime just as Ketonna's guard was about to shoot at him, Peter shot the gun off his hand; same thing happened to the man's boss. With eyes of a raging tiger Peter was approaching. He didn't run, he walked, with big steps. Heavy steps.

Both men gulped at the fearful sight. They had seen the display of both Peter's martial skill and his marksmanship, and they each had thanked the Almighty that the scary mercenary was on their side. At this moment they were thankful no more.

Ketonna's guard tried to reach for the fallen gun but as soon as he moved as much as to look at it, he felt the blazing heat from a bullet in his shoulder.

'Get out of here!'

The man looked at Peter amazed.

'Leave if you want to live.'

The man nodded and dragged to the stairs, soon leaving the other two men alone.

Still holding his aching hand, Ketonna sneered at Peter.

'And when I think I almost hired you…'

'Consider my application withdrawn,' hissed Peter and put his gun back in the holster. Then he moved a step closer to the mobster.

Ketonna knew perfectly well that the man opposite was his superior in any physical way, but there was another side to it, the material one.

He made a step back.

'So, what do you want?'

'Why do you think I want something,' answered Peter quietly and came closer.

'Those like you always want something. And I have  _a lot_  to give, Keenan… Hey, don't look at me like that, it's the only name I've got for you… Colin?'

'Colin Keenan is dead.'

'Thought so.'

Peter came even closer, his eyes grew dimmer, their look was wild.

'So how much do you have?'

Ketonna grinned, but still stepped back, though the edge of the roof was closer and closer.

'A lot.'

'I was just curious, you see… I wonder how you know your wealth if you can't even turn your computer on.'

Peter smiled victoriously while Ketonna's face turned pale.

'Who are you?'

'You disappoint me, I was really thinking you'd have recognised me by now.

*****

_'It's Doomsday, Thomas Ketonna!'_

**_*_ **

_The ribs caved in and pierced everything they were otherwise meant to protect, liver, lungs, heart…_

**_*_ **

_He sensed a presence and got up. Behind him he heard the clicking of a loaded gun._

**_*_ **

Peter turned and instinctively jumped to the side. It was fast enough to save his life, but not fast enough to escape the bullet. It pierced his hip and went out. He suppressed the groan but fighting the pain took some effort. The young priest remembered how his father had taught him to control his body. While channelling his chi in direction of the wound he got up and faced his attacker.

By the roof's edge on the other side was Francisco Ketonna – Thomas Ketonna's father. He aimed again only this time Peter dodged the bullet the way only a Shaolin priest can. He limped closer to the older Ketonna, avoiding a cannonade of bullets.

The formless creature was so stunned that the emotion was actually visible on his disfigured face.

'I have to apologise for killing your son…'

'That's fine, he was asking for it.'

There's a grieving father, thought Peter.

'But blood is blood.'

'Now, here we agree.' The younger man stood still. He was close to Ketonna Sr now. Just the right distance. 'You know who I am.'

'I knew the minute I saw you fight. Quick, precise and in control… A true master.  _Just_  like your father.'

'Why didn't you turn me in?' whispered Peter, pretending he hadn't heard the compliment.

'I wanted to see how far you'd go. …And I wanted you to learn about your mother; you have the right to.'

Peter didn't reply. His sight grew mad again. He started rubbing his palms.

'Well… I did.'

'You know nothing,' cried the older Ketonna. 'Laura was meant for  _my_  son!'

'Oops.'

'She belonged him, Peter… Laura belonged to my son, body… and soul, she was  _his_. Do you understand what that means?'

Just before the terror took hold of him Peter finally let go of the tremendous control he'd been exercising over his body.

This was the last drop.

A brisk move of the left hand and the power wave of the Hand of Thousand Bells threw Francisco Ketonna into the emptiness. Senselessly Peter saw the dead body lying stabbed on a couple of bars of the tall fence that was surrounding the complex. And before he had time to reflect on the old man's words he heard a cry. It was not down in the yard, nor from the house, it was inside his mind, a scared voice calling his name.

'Tara!'

*****

Peter fled from the house and sought Tara. He saw her in the further end of the yard, not far from the new arena. Getting there, however, was not going to be easy. To the right he saw Chan taking one of the last soldiers from Ketonna's army that was still around; the man fell unconscious on the ground. Chan spotted Peter and drew his gun and pointed it at the priest.

Peter froze without even attempting to move. All he felt was the bullet passing inches from his head; next thing he heard was the sound from the falling dead body of Thomas Ketonna's personal bodyguard, the same Peter had spared only minutes ago. He was holding a Beretta that he was about to use on Peter when Chan interfered.

'Get down,' shouted Peter in the very moment.

Chan bent and Peter jumped. He leaned on Chan's back, his feet heavily stumping on a guard who was about to stab the tall Chinese with an army knife.

'Good call,' said Chan, slightly shaken.

'Ditto.'

The men noticed that amongst the smoke and demolition around them very little fight was still going on. The place was swarming with commandos arresting soldiers; many fighters were helping injured, while others were looking for friends they had lost in the fight.

One last confrontation was still on near the arena. Jake had joined Tara and Rob Campos who were facing the last five of Ketonna's men. Peter joined the group. One of the soldiers was trying to escape but the moment he saw the young Shaolin coming he simply froze. With hands up he kneeled.

'I give up, don't come closer.'

Peter looked around, not completely certain the man, a young man, was addressing him. Tara came and cuffed him.

'I wish all my men were like you.'

'Branded?'

'Scary.'

They chuckled and parted. Peter was relieved. It was actually over, Tara was OK, he was fine, too, and everyone was all right. In that moment two more soldiers joined their colleagues and Peter was forced to leave his plans for life with Tara after the Island for later.

The Shaolin needed a punch, a block and another, practically invisible punch, to tak tall African soldier. His periphery sight spotted Kermit not far from there, and generally, he felt good. Too good. He felt confident.

The smoke was dispersing, one could see the actual proportion of the destruction, beginning with the fact that a great part of Casa Ketonna was no more. Peter took one last guard, his mind already miles away from this damned place. Unsurprisingly Tara's scream stirred him.

'Peter… No!'

He hadn't even noticed when she came back. Unfortunately, he didn't also notice Sam Strickland coming behind with a shotgun. In his head, and his memories afterwards, the next ten seconds took ages to happen.

Peter was about to turn when he sensed Tara's powerful chi behind. She pushed him. Simultaneously with the loss of balance he heard the shot. Helplessly he observed the lean body he had held in his arms hours ago fly back from the blast. Before he reacted at all, through the drops crimson blood that covered his face, he heard a cannonade of gunshots, at the end of which Strickland's lifeless body dropped on the platform. Kermit and Chan had emptied their chargers in the traitor's chest but gunpowder can't turn back time.

Only now Peter woke up. He could hear the helicopters, the screams, the dying echoes of gun shots… None of this mattered. The shattered man dropped to his knees by Tara's body. He was shaking. He was looking at the mean hole the bullet had left in her chest, rivers of blood were streaming from it. He didn't dare touch; he didn't dare move.

'Pete?' Jake was by his side, trying to comfort him in some way. With a mad roar Peter pushed him and concentrated on the dying woman.

Jake got up and stepped back. Despite his own skills as a fighter, Jake still trusted in his common sense a great deal, and right now it was telling him for the time being not to disturb the young priest.

Back in Peter's reality the world was falling apart. Before it had even had time to come to life, a world where could be happy and  _not_  alone, it was crumbling and all he could do was sit and watch.

Tara's smooth face had turned frightfully pale, whiteness bordering with blue. Peter finally came closer and gently caressed her face. She opened foggy eyes. Her lips whispered  _Peter_  but no sound came out. The looks in their eyes were all they were allowed to say to each other. Finally she trembled and with her last remaining strength she said very quietly,

'It's… O…K…'

'No, no…'

Peter started caressing her more intensely now, realising how cold she was.

'Let me… go…'

'You're not going anywhere…. No!'

Desperately he looked around.

'Help's on the way,' he heard a voice, it sounded like Kermit. But there was no time.

Peter realised the growing puddle of blood and almost by instinct pressed hand on the wound which was at the base of the throat. The bullet had hid close to the bone, crushing it, and was still in there.

'No…' he said quietly. His eyes had grown dark again, his breathing was so heavy that the people around could hear it.

'No…' was the last thing Peter's hoarse voice whispered before he moved into action.

The anger of all the misfortunes his life had been clad with was resurfacing with power. The misfortunes, the constant loneliness and abandonment. The abandonment…

But this time he was going to fight, and for once he knew, or at least he could try, to use the energy from his anger for something other than self-destruction.

'Tara? Tara!'

Blank black eyes looked at him, and even that seemed to cause her great effort.

'You're not going to die! Not you!'

Peter was caressing Tara's temple, his left hand was lying on the bleeding wound. Then he started breathing deeper, his body started shaking while Tara moaned with pain.

'What the…' Jake was in an awe. Yet again. The others around, Chan and Kermit, Campos and Dayan, everyone was trying to comprehend what was that Peter was doing.

In a few seconds they saw it. Peter moved his hand, there was the bullet, standing on the blood red palm like a magnet was holding it. Angrily the Shaolin shook it off, the small metallic capsule fell, its ring cut through the silence.

'You're not going to die,' hissed Peter and re-placed his palm on the wound. The whiteness had reached Tara's lips, which once pink like rose petals were now dead-blue.

Peter closed eyes. He was breathing in a different rhythm now, his breathing out being particularly audible. Smoke started coming from the wound. Tara opened eyes with shock. Briefly she looked around and closed them again. Peter pulled hand and wiped her chest; the bleeding had stopped, only a deep-red circle was indicating the injury's severe proportion.

Tenderly the young priest took his precious girl and got up. His mad look was still there. Everyone, all of them gaping, made way. A helicopter had just landed and Peter headed for it, making it clear he was going to use it and nothing would stop him. Accustomed to Shaolin miracles, Kermit was the first to come to his senses. He ran after the pair and waved a badge at a soldier who came out of the machine. Whatever the ex-mercenary said, worked, because the other man frantically ran and opened the door, assisting Peter in placing the unconscious woman in it.

'There, take this.' Kermit gave Peter a badge of an US marshal. 'You're going to the General Hospital in Veracruz, I'll find you there.'

In the meantime Chan and Jake came closer and Kermit was ready to attack the Chinese.

'Hold on, Kermit, hold on.'

'Chan, better take this jacket off.'

Chan was wearing deep-blue jacket, owned by every of Ketonna's paid army. The imprisoned fighters wore red.

'He's with us, Kermit.'

'You kidding me?'

'Kermit, this mission would not have been possible without him! He's not be touched, OK?'

'…K…'

Chan smiled and faintly nodded at Peter.

'Jake, come here.'

Obediently the younger man approached Peter, who was already in the helicopter.

'Do you know a Chinese fighter called Mai La?'

'Of course. …She was at the back. She's amazing.'

'Good. Find her and bring her to the hospital.'

'I think we're all going there.'

'I know but she has to come to me. Tell her that… that Collin Keenan has given his word to take her back to her husband.'

'Who?!'

'Can you do that, Jake?'

'Sure, sure. I'll see you there.'

'Good.'

Jake Hudson was still coming to terms with the image of Peter Caine as a top notch martial artist. What had occurred by the ring few minutes ago was yet to be comprehended. For now he decided to concentrate on being useful to the man he owed his freedom to. Realising his strange new abilities, and actually realising his own freedom, was postponed for later.

 

*******


	6. Beginning's End

The hospital was a mess. Wounded were being brought constantly. Foreign soldiers and fighters had mixed with locals in a colourful, noisy mess. Even relatives of imprisoned fighters had started coming already, only hours after the raid. The place was so packed that less urgent patients were put in the corridors and even in the staff rooms.

Tara was an urgent patient. The scary amount of blood, adding up to the damage from the gunshot which included an infection, made her urgent enough for the hospital's Chief Surgeon and his team to leave amidst a 'routine' operation and concentrate on her. Of course, General Woodword, Tara's immediate superior, and his interference made things move… faster.

Peter had been pacing for a while, his own injury completely forgotten, but the hospital's running out of blood made him stay put. His being blood type 0- made him a precious donor, and the command  _'Drain me if you have to_ ,' uttered in broken Spanish, made him a particularly fortunate subject. So right now he was wrapped in wires and cables. The first 500 ml had been taken immediately as Tara's surgery used the last bank available. Though doctors didn't find it worthy to waste precious materials over lost cause they did it, and they used a lot, again not without the right things being told to the right people by the aforementioned General.

*****

_'Not many people know this number.'_

'Well, you know me, Blue Eagle, I've got connections.'

_'Still…'_

'All right, I guess I used the help of my mission commander, an old protégée of yours.'

_'I thought so. What can I do for you, General?'_

'Perhaps there's something  _I_  might do for you. For starters, do you remember our mission in the spring of 1974?'

Silence.

'I'm glad you do. Well, here I am, and things are better than ever.'

_'What do you mean?'_

'All went well, Eagle, perfect! And I have to say, it would have been impossible without your boy.'

Silence.

'He's fine, that's what I'm calling to tell you.'

_'…Thank you!'_

Woodword smiled.

_'And… the mission commander? Is he all right?'_

'Oh yeah!'

*****

Just when Peter was trying to figure what part of his training he should employ to battle the blood loss, the door opened and a tall, well-built silver-haired man came in.

'Ah, I'm pleased to meet you at last, sir.'

'You are?'

'Of course. All of this would have been impossible without you. So, thank you… Peter Caine.'

For a moment Peter was speechless until it all came to him.

'You're welcome… General.'

Woodword smiled. 'Quick mind, I like that. Now... do you mind?'

'Oh, be my guest.'

The General sat on a stool not far from Peter.

'There's someone here who wishes to meet you; he's also very grateful for your contribution.'

'What have I done?'

'Well, for starters, you risked your life for a cause that wasn't even your own.'

'I was asked to help, I can't turn down anyone who needs me.'

'Of course not; no true Shaolin would.'

Peter nodded. 'I'm impressed.'

'That I know your identity you're not impressed, but that I know of Shaolin you are?'

'That's not something people know of.'

'But I'm not  _people_.'

'Quite.'

'Now… may I let him in?'

'Uhm, sure...'

'You fit enough?'

'Yeah… Some more blood out of my body, not a big deal. At least now I'm giving it away instead of wasting it on the streets of Sloanville… or Mexico...'

The General laughed.

'I like that,' he said giggling. 'I like that.' Then he got up and opened the door. 'I'll leave you alone.'

If Peter was not seated already he might have, because the man who entered the room was nobody else the President of the Unite States. The young priest tried to straighten up but the older man stopped him.

'Please, stay put, you're busy.'

'Well… I… I'm honoured.'

'Heh… No, Peter, the honour is entirely mine.'

The President sat on the same chair Woodword had been seconds ago.

'So… You may be wondering why I'm here.'

'Frankly… no, I'm not. I don't get it why you'd want to meet with me, however.'

'Of course. Well, you may not realise it yet, but the success of this mission will have huge impact on the global peace. Thomas Ketonna had the people, and the technology, to start a conflict in any part of the world, and he was blackmailing us.

'I know some of that.'

'That's good. And I know that none of this would have been possible without you.'

'Oh.. Sir… No, that's too much, it's not true…'

'Peter… The woman you worked with is one of Interpol's best agents. She was supposed to get to the Island and retrieve Ketonna's files, destroying his system in the process.'

'But she did that.'

'Yes…?'

Peter smiled and shrugged. 'Well… OK… I guess I helped a little…'

'You helped a lot. And I'm here to reward you.'

'Oh, now, Mr President, no…'

'Shhh.' Peter froze. 'We can't really have a proper ceremony but I've got few medals here… Several countries are deeply indebted to you, hence the diversity.'

The young man was stunned. Along the Purple Heart and the Military Outstanding Volunteer Service Medal, he recognised medals from Mexico, Colombia, Jordan and Canada. It was up to his imagination to figure what these countries must have had to do with Ketonna.

'I… am honoured. Thank you, Sir!'

'Always welcome, young man.' Then the President shook the younger man's hand and made no sign that the meeting was over at all.

'Now, Peter, I am at your disposal.'

'I beg you a pardon.'

'You see, some people, not me, but some people like to call me 'the most powerful man in the world'.'

'Aha…'

'Well, think what you want, what you need. And then think that the most powerful man in the world is here to provide that thing for you.'

'I don't know what to say…'

'Mmm… a figure, perhaps?'

Peter chuckled. 'I didn't do this for the money.'

'Oh, well, you are getting paid, anyway; I'm not sure about the sum but I think it's around the six-figure zone.'

Peter's eyes widened.

'It is against my… beliefs, and… and order…'

'I know, I know. As a Shaolin priest you can't really do that, but you  _are_  getting paid, the way the others involved in the mission are. What you're going to do with your wage is up to you.'

'Donate it, perhaps…'

'Hm… Good idea. But, tell me, Peter, don't you want to have a family someday?'

Peter shuddered.

'Y-yes.'

'Family is an expensive endeavour… especially for someone without a steady income.'

The Shaolin didn't answer. That was true.

'So, money settled. What else? Come one, challenge me.'

Shaking head, Peter answered.

'Mr President, with all due respect, I don't think that even  _you_  can give me what I want.'

'Such as?'

'End of my solitude. My family… Parents…'

'Yeah…' The older man was about to say something but then he stopped.

'The young lady in the surgery… You care about her, don't you?'

Peter nodded.

'Are you going to see her again?'

'I don't know.'

'I'll see what I can do about it.'

'But she doesn't work for the American government. This was her last mission at all.'

'Don't underestimate me, kid.'

'I'm sorry, Sir.'

'What else? Come on? Don't you want anything for yourself?'

'Anything material? No. If I have the things I mentioned earlier, I'll have everything.'

'I wish there were more men like you, son.'

Peter smiled.

'Look, I really want to do something for you. Isn't there any problem you need to have taken care of?'

'Well… if you're asking… The building I live in, the….'

'The Academy, the place you're holding your Martial Arts school?'

'That… that's the one… Yeah… Well, I kind of can't afford to pay the rent any longer.'

'How do you maintain the place?'

'Donations. But we usually use most of the money for the Youth Centre…'

'…Where you're collecting kids from the streets and give them back their lives.'

'Y-yeah.. H-how?...'

'Nothing's impossible, kid. When you've spent 12 years of your life serving the System, it's even easier.'

Abashed Peter smiled.

'That's some impressive amount to awards you've go there.'

'No big deal.'

'Imagine what you could have achieved if you had stayed.'

'None of my awards is nearly as fulfilling as what I'm doing now.'

'I believe you.'

Peter didn't reply but he noticed the President checking his watch.

'All right, guess my time is up.'

'You've got things to do…'

'Of global importance,' said the President smiling and got up. 'And, Mr Caine… I guess you're aware of the position your foster father holds in our midst.'

He was not, yet, he confirmed.

'I may need your help in the future… Nothing as hazardous as this mission, for sure, but… important all the same.'

'So, that's the catch.'

'There is no catch. In return you may consider yourself always… backed up… on a highest level. And don't worry, General Woodword and myself are the only people around who know your involvement in the mission. Oh, and Captain Griffin, too, of course.'

'Cap… What?!'

'He'll tell you about it,' smiled the President and approached the door.

'Please, don't get up. It's been a pleasure, Mr Caine.'

'The pleasure is all mine, Mr President.'

The older man opened the door, then turned to Peter one last time.

'I was also asked to let you know that the lady we spoke of earlier is out of the surgery.'

Now Peter barely held himself from rushing out; fortunately he remembered on time the maze of cables he was wrapped in.

This whole thing resembled a dream more and more, and a dream he for once didn't really want to wake from.

*****

Slightly dizzy from the blood loss and the aching hip, Peter approached the room he was told they've taken Tara. He didn't know if she was awake, or if she could awake… He knew nothing. Right now he couldn't concentrate on anything. It felt like all the progress he'd made during the past months was gone and he was somewhere to his previous 'normal' self, when he neither could see in the dark nor could beat seven guys at the same time (that was his personal best so far).

Outside room 202 was a young Chinese woman.

'Are you Mai La?' he asked at once.

'That's right… Mr Keenan? Why do you want to see me?'

Anxiously he checked the room where he wanted to go desperately, but promise is a promise.

'Are you married to a man named Sun Wei?'

The woman's eyes widened. 'Yes. Yes, I am. Do… do you know him?'

'He was at the tournament. He had come here to rescue you.'

'But… wh-where is he then?' She was trembling.

'If he had stayed Ketonna was going to kill him; he kills all Shaolin.'

'But he's not branded yet!'

'Well, Ketonna changed his mind.'

'What happened? Is my husband all right?'

'I sent him home. But I also promised him I'd take care of you and bring you back to him. That's what I intend to do.' Peter smiled as soft as he could. He didn't need Shaolin training to detect the Mai La's mistrust.

'What do you mean you  _sent him home_?'

'We fought… and I won.'

She made a step back. 'You… beat him?!'

'I…' It was not the time to get into details. 'Let us talk later, shall we? I need to…' He looked at the room's glass wall again and his heart broke at the realisation. '…I need to say 'good bye'.'

Peter didn't look at Mai La as he said that. His eyes were glued to the door separating him from the only living thing he wanted to be with, now or in any other moment.

'Look… Just give me some time and then we'll talk.'

'OK… How do we travel?'

'I've got that covered,' smiled Peter and pressed the handle.

*****

_Sloanville, June 12_

The squad room was a mess. The detectives who were there were either over-excited with the recent events, or busy with drug-dealers and pimps that waited to be interrogated.

Captain Simms had made it to her den without anyone noticing her wet, red face. Inside her office she was staring at the phone like she was going to make it ring with the power of her thought. She had checked both of her e-mails. Twice. And nothing. The turmoil in her battered heart prevented her from noticing the sudden silence outside.

Many new cops had arrived at the 101s since he left, but Paul Blaisdell still recognised and was recognised by the majority of them. He never came here after his coming home so his arrival right now naturally caused a stir.

'What's up Broderick?'

'We… we're great… Captain,' replied Broderick in a nervous excitement and suddenly felt like it was his first day here, 20 years ago.

'Chief?'

'Goodness, Paul…'

The two men greeted each other and for the next few minutes the former Captain took a small tour at what used to be  _his_  precinct.

'Have you been here long, Detective?' Paul stopped and spoke to a tall, dark-blond man with blue eyes.

'Year and half, sir, got transferred from 92nd.'

'Tough precinct.'

'Walk on the beach next to this one.'

'Damn true,' smiled Paul and winked at the younger man. He wanted to leave immediately. He noticed the name,  _Det. R. Callahan_ , and since simple math indicated that this must have been the detective sent here to replace his son, he felt he'd better be gone before feelings take over his once strong body.

Paul knocked on Simms's door and entered.

'Paul! You should have called…'

'Nah, it was about time I came down here, anyway,' said Paul and casually nested on the chair opposite what once had been his desk.

'Are you hungry?'

'Uhm… Yes, actually…' Stunned as she was, Simms remembered she hadn't had anything to eat since this morning. 'Do you have something in that bag?'

Paul had a white plastic bag with him. He put it on the desk.

'Care for some Mexican?'

Karen's heart skipped a beat.

'Always,' she said, suddenly realising that her partner had ways of contacting people that went beyond post and phone.

Paul spread both hands across the desk and took Karen's in his.

'Karen... It's OK. They are fine.'

She was staring at him.

' _Both_  of them, Karen.'

In that moment they were no longer two police Captains sharing a common precinct; they were two ordinary people who had sent their loved ones to war and now got to share the good news and the tremendous relief that came with them.

Karen held Paul's hands and finally allowed her feelings to run free. Himself he let few more tears escape, not believing that there were any left at all.

They were  _both_  alive.

*****

_Veracruz, Mexico…_

The room was dark and stuffy, or so it seemed to Peter, for all he could see was Tara's still, pale body and life-supporting machinery around it. Only then did he notice General Woodword sitting by the bed and Kermit leaning on the wall. Both men reacted and made way for Peter as soon as he approached the bed.

Tara was awake.

Peter sat on the bed and tenderly caressed her hair, scattered like a black river.

'Hey,' he said.

'H…' she said, barely audible. Her lips formed a light curve attempting a smile but her half-open eyes held the same encompassing look as Peter's.

'You're one hell of a fighter.'

Tara smiled.

'Di… you… gir…'

'Oh, Mai La? Yes, she's outside… Waiting.'

'The.. you sh… go.'

This time Peter was caressing the pale face.

'I can't leave you. Tara… I'm not going to leave you.'

'Go…'

Slightly shaking Peter lifted the cold hand and held it to his lips. He couldn't hold the tears any longer. All vision became blurry; the dry, pale skin was wet. Tara moved finger and slid down the wet cheek.

'I c-can't leave, not you, not now…' He was shaking

'Pe…' she whispered.

'Tara, I… I lo…'

'Shhh,' she said and moved fingers to his lips. Peter froze. ' **Don't bind yourself with promises no one can keep,'**  said Tara in Cantonese, finally finding the strength to utter a whole sentence.

Peter closed eyes and hugged her hand as if it meant the world to him. This was impossible to believe. It was happening again and though this time it was in the right time-frame and he actually  _could_  stay, honour and duty prevented him from doing so.

The sound from the door opening made him open eyes. Tara was looking at him, he was still holding her hand as he had cupped her side, trying to memorize every detail from the features of the single most amazing woman he had ever met. The next thing he felt was Kermit's pat on his shoulder.

'Pete, the plane's waiting.'

'Is it so urgent?' hissed Peter, never taking his eyes off Tara.

'It will be the only plane allowed to leave the country for the next 48 hours at least, so, yeah, it's kind of urgent.'

'I'm sorry. Tara… God, tell me to stay. Please, ask me to stay.'

'Peter… I can't build happiness on your dishonour.'

Angrily he looked aside. This and her acknowledgement that she had thought of life after the island hurt like nothing ever hurt before.

'I wish I never took the damn things,' he hissed, this time to himself.

Tara smiled.

'You don'… mean it. …Pete…' he turned. He loved her calling him that, too. He loved her calling him anything. 'If it wasn't.. for the… bran..'

'Shh, hey, take it easy…'

'…We wouldn't… have met.' Tara stubbornly finished her sentence and granted him the biggest smile she was capable of at the moment.

Kermit smiled, a brief flashback from the past year and a half made him consider that, all the pain his friend had had to endure might, after all, have been worth it.

'I don't want to leave you alone. You'll be alone, no, no… Loneliness sucks…'

'Hey… Don' worry… 'll be fine. And, Peter… I'll come and find you.'

His eyes doubled their size.

'I'll come.'

Kermit couldn't be silent any longer.

'OK, guys… Pete, you have to go. Don't worry about her…  _I_ 'll stay.'

'What?'

'I'll stay with her. As soon as she's stable they'll move her to Houston, don't worry. She won't be alone.'

'But you have a family…'

'At least I'm safe. Karen will understand. Pete, I promise…'

Peter was looking first at Kermit and then at Tara again. She shrugged.

'Suits me.'

'I… I don't know… This is too much. Kermit… You've done so much already, I can't…'

'I'll be happy to do it. Peter?'

The younger man looked at his friend with green shades.

'I'll take care of her… and then I'll bring her back to you.'

'Really?'

'You have my word!'

Still hesitating Peter returned to Tara. She looked sicker now, obviously tired from the effort.

'Go, and do what you have to do.'

'If I could…'

'I know. … Peter?'

'Yes?'

'Are you going… to wait… for me?'

'I'll be waiting for you till the end of time if I have to.'

She smiled and slowly closed her eyes, then opened them again.

'I'll come to you.'

Peter leaned and kissed her on the forehead.

'I'll be waiting,' he said and got up. If he didn't leave now he might not leave at all. When he approached the door Tara called.

'Peter?'

'Yes?..' He turned, hoping at the impossible.

'Me too.'

He looked at her tenderly, then nodded at Kermit and left. He was going to ask him about this 'Captain' thing later.

In the corridor Mai La was waiting, her bag with her, and his own stuff had somehow miraculously materialised outside the room. Tara's men did their job to the detail!

**'Let's go.'** he said in Cantonese. The surprised woman nodded and followed. This grave-looking man was obviously more than he seemed and she was becoming more and more curious to know him better.

Walking through the hallway Peter was pleased to see the outcome of the mission. Outside the children's ward Al Hogan and Ranna Gar were talking to a doctor, the woman holding a black-haired toddler in her arms. The couple nodded at Peter as he passed by them. He returned the nod and smiled, hundreds words being said in those brief gestures.

Not far was Chan, talking to a commander from the local squad. Another nod, another understanding.

At that moment Jake came to him.

'Hey.'

'Jake, what's up?'

'They said I'm going home tomorrow,' said Jake almost jumping at the very thought of it.

'That's great,' said Peter evenly. 'Listen... Do you have anything to go back to, job or anything?'

'Well… not really. Why?'

'If you want, come to us in Chinatown. We can always use some extra instructors.'

'You serious?'

'Totally. Pay won't be that much, but you can be private coach, too. Just find Master Khan, he'll help you settle.'

'Jeez… Thanks, man. Thank you… for everything.'

'My pleasure,' said Peter even less lively than before and went away.

In the yard he recognised Rob Campos. He was in the company of a quite pretty woman, and he was kneeling in front of a cute three-year old girl with curly hair.

'….going?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Where are we going?'

'There's a plane for us. It will take us to China; you're going home.'

'And you're coming with me? But you don't have to.'

'It's my responsibility that you arrive safe and sound… I gave your husband my word,' replied Peter and shivers ran down his spine.

They entered a cab in silence. Mai La still could not believe that in less than 24 hours she'd be in Sunw Wei's arms again.

And Peter was considering… Should he do it? Should he 'call'? When fifteen minutes later they found themselves at a small lane where a private jet was waiting for them, Peter took a few minutes and looked at the evening sky.

'It's over, Father… I made it.'

*******


	7. EPILOGUE

_San Francisco, 1964_

The car set off to the city's Southern quarters. They were driving by the ocean. The warm light of the setting sun felt like a blessing and reassurance that what they were doing was the right thing.

'How are you, Laura?'

'How am I? As happy as a human being can possibly be!'

She laughed. Her companion wrapped her in his arms, tenderly caressed the reddened cheek that had received the slap and then kissed it.

'I've had worse, don't worry,' she added and playfully kissed him back.

'I'm sorry I allowed this to happen, my love, I should've been there earlier.'

Laura looked the man next to her straight in the eyes. 'That was pretty awesome, what you did there.'

'I shouldn't have allowed this… I guess I lost my temper.'

'You were protecting me.' She pressed closer to his chest and nuzzled his neck.

'I won't allow anyone to hurt you ever again!'

'You looked so strong, my love. …I know, I know, you'd rather avoid violence. It was awesome, all the same. You've got to teach me how to do that.'

The man smiled and wrapped his arms even tighter around her. 'I'd love that.'

The couple kissed, though for a bit longer than accepted etiquette, so at one point the man behind the wheel, who had tactfully kept quiet until then, had to clear his throat.

Ten minutes later they arrived near a small secluded beach. The buildings remained behind tall dark rocks, and down from the shoreline one had the feeling of being completely alone with the ocean.

'There they are!'

Laura barely waited for the car to stop and jumped out. A young man with red-brown hair waived at her. He took a three-year-old girl with long red curls in his arms and together they called on Laura.

'Love, there he is, my dear Andrew.'

'And the girl is… Elizabeth, was it?'

'We call her Lizzie.' She gave the tall man a playful look and swung in one leg. 'Pop, are you coming?'

'Laura, you shouldn't call your father like that…'

The man who had been driving was just locking the car. He pretended to look annoyed and then leaned on the car roof and grinned.

'You go; we're coming in a while.'

Laura wrapped arms around the young man. It amused her that despite everything he was still abashed in her father's presence.

'It's the 60s, silly, the Age of Love. Besides, it makes me feel... closer to him, you know, he's my best friend, not just my father… Don't be long, sweetheart.'

She kissed him quickly. He was still leaning for the kiss when she was already gone, impatient to see her niece.

'She's got so much energy,' said her father, 'as if she wants to take all life in one go. … I know, I'm spoiling her.'

'I didn't say that…' They laughed.

In silence the two men observed the energetic young woman running around the beach with the pretty girl. Little Lizzie was the result of Andrew's first 'taste' of the Age of Love. He had been 15 and completely trapped by his hormones. The family did everything they could to cover the case. After Lizzie's mother, one year older than Andrew, died at childbirth, the girl went into the legal care of Andrew's father, and remained so until her real father could take care of her.

'Shall we go for a walk?' suggested the older man.

'With pleasure.'

They headed for the further end of the street, in the direction they had just come from.

'Sometimes she's behaving like a kid, sometimes…'

'…You feel like she's lived for centuries.'

'You know, to me she still  _is_  a child…'

'She'll always be. …Oh, you mean our age difference?'

'I don't mind your age difference, not really. You're not that older, you're what... 30?'

'Twenty-seven, actually.'

'Really?! 'Cause I could bet  _you_  were hundred, too.'

'I've heard that before. …But, Sir Lawrence…'

'Wow, wow, hold on, young man. You're marrying my daughter and you're still calling me Sir Lawrence?'

'I…'

'Seriously, look at me. Do I look like a Lawrence to you?'

'Well…'

No, the man in cowboy boots, jeans and plaid shirt didn't quite look like a Lawrence, definitely not a Sir.

'No,' the young man answered shyly and laughed.

'Look now, Kwai Chang, I've been blessed with the opportunity to choose between two names, thanks to my dear parents, so, please, call me Peter, will you?'

The man looked his future son-in-law invitingly.

'Uhm… OK… Peter...'

'Hehe, that's it!'

'That's not a very common name amongst English upper class, is it?'

'I don't know… My father married a commoner, daughter of Irish immigrants; and, dear man, to prove everyone how much he was proud of her ancestry, he called me after her father, Peter O'Shea.'

'And that's you preferred name…'

'It fits me better, don't you think? I'm not… a high-class type, I have no wish to deny who I really am. One should never deny or be denied his true nature.'

'That's very wise.'

Sir Lawrence patted the younger man on the back and they continued. 'So, you were saying before…'

'I know that Laura is young but… I'll take care of her, Sir… Peter. I love her more than life itself… even if we've been together for such a short time.'

'Heh, yours was love at first sight.'

'Yes.'

'But I hope you know what you're signing for.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, she can be pretty hard to handle.'

'I don't mind that.'

'She has quick temper.'

'It keeps me on my toes, good training,' winked Kwai Chang.

Sir Lawrence sighed.

'She's the most impatient creature you'll even know. Once she had to wait in the bank, and when the cashier closed for 10 minutes just before her turn, she bit him.'

'I find her impatience utterly sweet.'

Now Lawrence was practically melting. 'And I hope you do realise  _she_  will be the head of your family. She can't have anybody else take charge.'

'One responsibility less for me, then,' said the young man calmly.

The future father-in-law gave him an unbelieving look. 'You're either madly in love, or just mad.'

'Aren't these synonyms?'

Sir Lawrence laughed from the bottom of his heart. He hugged his daughter's fiancé.

'Yes, they are; they are indeed.'

The two men walked a little more and then stopped to enjoy few moments of silence under the sound of splashing waves.

'Laura tells me you're all alone in the world.'

'Not anymore,' smiled Kwai Chang. Sir Lawrence remained fairly serious.

'But yes, apart from my beautiful angel… I've got nobody else. My mother died when I was 7; my father… he left when I was 14, never came back.'

'He abandoned you?' There was a hint of disgust in his voice.

'N… He went on an expedition, he… He died in the mountains.'

Kwai Chang tried to defend his father not so much from his father-in-law as from his own anger.

Of course he abandoned him! And he was never going to forgive him that.

'But… your story is even… sadder than mine.'

The older man leaned on the metallic bar that was running along the sidewalk.

'Melinda and I were in love. Then I left for Europe, thought I had to… do my duty as a man and subject to His Majesty. I served with honour, in the meantime rumours of my death had spread here and by the time I returned, Melinda was married to my younger brother Maxwell.'

Kwai Chang sighed.

'I'm really sorry…'

Sir Lawrence only shrugged.

'Wasn't meant to be. Her parents depended upon her marrying well; they never cared about her feelings. To them it was all the same whom she'd marry…'

He stopped to observe a passing fishing boat.

'Anyway, we came to terms with each other, I forgave her, then they called me back when the War was at its peak. I saved more men than I killed, thank God, took few medals from dear Mr Churchill, the title was given to me by His Majesty and… and when I returned, Melinda had had Laura. I didn't even realise she has named her after me.'

'But you didn't know she was yours immediately?'

'No, no… I suspected, but in the end she admitted shortly before Laura's 8th birthday. My brother had had one of his tantrums, he didn't even care I was there, just went and hit her…'

Kwai Chang put firm hand on the trembling shoulder next to him.

'I knew he was harassing the boys but I never suspected he'd lift hand upon her. That evening… I swear, I nearly killed him. Then I took my little girl and left, never looked back. It was my sin to take her away from her mother but Melinda was already on pills and whisky diet, it was one care less for her.'

'It's amazing what a sunny, full of life creature Laura has become.'

'Yes, isn't it? She's full of love, full of life. Sometimes I think she doesn't belong to this world, that she's an angel walking the Earth… You don't know how tough my girl is, Kwai Chang, stronger than an army of men.'

'I can well believe it.' Then he considered. 'But... the house in town... it's yours?'

'Everything's mine, I'm the first-born. Besides, our father knew how unstable Max was, and almost completely disinherited him. I didn't care, I left them live in this Goddamned place. I had my ranch already, I took Laura there. …Horses became my best friends, Kwai Chang, so much more trustworthy than men...'

'I understand.'

They shared a look and Sir Lawrence continued.

'I want better life for my girl, Caine, but I'm scared.'

'I'll take care of her, Peter…' Caine shrugged. '…Which may be hard to believe after you paid for your own daughter's engagement ring…'

'Well, you designed an expensive ring, not my fault,' he winked.

'I… I never thought it was possible to love someone this much.'

Sir Lawrence smiled.

'Young man, remember, you haven't known what true love is before you've become a father.'

Kwai Chang smiled shyly and blushed. 'I can barely wait,' he said with eyes fixated on the ground.

'You know what I like best about you, son?'

'What?'

'You're tall,' grinned Sir Lawrence. 'I want tall grand-children.' He started laughing.

'I…' Caine cleared his throat, feeling seriously warm. 'I'll see w-what I c-can do about it…' he stammered, and laughed back.

'But Peter, you're not that short…'

'Nah, I'm barely 1.80, the tallest Fitzroy in three generations. Laura takes her height from her mother's side, I presume.'

They laughed again and after another break the conversation took a serious note again.

'You said you were scared…'

'It's the future that scares me,' said Sir Lawrence, barely audible.

'Nobody knows what is to come. We don't need be afraid.'

'It's just that I don't want to see my only daughter suffering the Fitzroy curse.'

'Curse,' whispered the younger man. 'What does your family know about curses…' His gaze grew dark.

'Hey… I didn't mean to make you sad… Laura told me your story.'

'I know, but… You have to remember, Peter, that whatever else the future may bring, it will surely bring hope.'

'Hope…'

'Even if Laura and I can't break that… curse, even if we have to endure our own share of pain and suffering… maybe our children will break it… As long as there's future, there is hope.'

The sun was about to kiss the horizon where the ocean ended and the sky began. Sir Lawrence hugged the young man.

'I'm proud to call you my son-in-law, Kwai Chang Caine.'

'The honour is mine, Peter!'

*****

_San Francisco, December, 1998_

'George, we have a new guest. Welcome him, would you?'

'Yes, Miss, at once.'

It was early Sunday afternoon in the beginning of December and though the house welcomed visitors even today, she didn't expect that anyone would turn up. After a brief look at the mirror hair was combed, simple clothes were straightened, and she ran to the entrée to welcome her first, and probably only guest for the day.

At the reception room George, the butler, was giving change to a tall, good looking young man. She felt nervous. Handsome strangers and déjà-vu was just what she needed on a gloomy, winter afternoon.

'Miss, this is Mr McCabe, he paid for the Full tour.'

'Full tour? That's new. Mr McCabe… I'm Elizabeth Fitzroy. Welcome!'

She could swear that her guest took an extra second to look at her, as if he was studying her features. Involuntarily her face flushed.

'Please, call me Peter.'

They shook hands. Where has she seen that man?

'How come you're interested in our story, Mr… Peter?'

'I was just passing…'

'Are you a writer?' she asked dryly.

'N-no, not at all… Why?'

'You've no idea how many script writers and journalists have passed from this place. Half of the soap operas on TV must have been inspired by the story of my family.'

'I… I've no intention in publishing anything, not without your permission anyway. Actually, I just returned from China.'

'Really? China?'

'That's right. My connection flight got cancelled, and then this was the first open place I saw…'

'Look, even if you were a writer, I wouldn't care. Just, don't use real names, that's all I'm asking for.'

'OK...' He smiled.

'Would you like something to drink… Peter?'

'A cup of tea would be great, thanks.'

'George…'

'Tea coming.'

'Right. Well, Follow me.'

They entered a bright room the size of a one-story house.

'This is the big drawing room.'

The walls were coated in oak, the furniture all fitted perfectly, and the solemn atmosphere was completed by thick, green curtains. Almost every free space on the walls was taken by portraits.

'A beautiful room.'

'A sad room… Like every corner of that house.'

'Feels like place with lots of memories.'

He shuddered. Those weren't good memories. The fire place was lit but the whole house was chilly, cold with the tears that had been shed here.

'Many memorable events happened here,' said Elizabeth and sighed, 'including my father's death.'

'I'm sorry…'

'No, it's OK, you've paid for the Full tour, you get the Full tour. Besides, it's better if you hear the true story from me, rather than reading the folk tales that gossip magazines have been writing, or worse, hear it from the people.'

'Wise, though tough decision.'

'I know. Come.'

They went to the mini-bar where a small metallic plate was placed next to a leather-coated arm chair. The plate red  _In the loving memory of Andrew Fitzroy, 1945 – 1975_.

'What happened?'

'He drank bleach. George found him. He was just… sitting here, peacefully, looking at the sunset…'

'I'm really sorry.'

'Well, he was chronically depressed. Add to that hyper-sensitivity… My grand-mother, my great-uncle and my father all died in the course of four years. He was the first to go.'

'That's horrible!'

'You see, I've learned to turn the sorrow into anger. It was so egoistic of him. I counted on him, we all did, and he just… left.'

'Oh, I know that feeling. But believe me, anger doesn't help either.'

'Well, I've nothing else, no one else… but my butler George and his wife Rose.'

'Who… who are the people on the paintings.'

'The Fitzroys.'

The man was still. He was lost in all the images. For a while he was searching and then took a time and stopped in front of the portrait of a young, smiling girl with red, braided hair and white dress, holding a bouquet of yellow daisies.

'It's my favourite one, too.'

'Yes?'

'It's hard to miss, of them all she's the only one smiling.'

'You're right… Why do you think is that?'

'That's how she was, smiling, full of energy.'

The name under the portrait read  _Laura Katherine Fitzroy, 1944 – 1967_.

'She died so young,' said the man in a particularly low voice.

'Oh, Mr McCabe… uhm, Peter, hers is a whole saga on its own… I'll tell you later.'

'You will?'

'You've paid for it.'

'So…' He cleared his throat. 'Who is she?'

'That's my aunt Laura.'

'Don't tell me she also committed suicide.'

'Oh, no, she died of some illness; medicine at the time couldn't figure it out.'

'She also died here?'

'No. I barely remember her, but she died in a small town where she had moved with her family shortly before her death; both my father and great-uncle refused to take me there.'

'Family? Was she married?'

'Yes!' Elizabeth grinned. 'I was bridesmaid. It's my earliest, and best, childhood memory.'

'But her name…'

'Yeah, well… Security, you see. When we decided to open this house for visitors so that we can pay our bills, my great-uncle insisted all names that weren't Fitzroy be deleted; all recent portraits and photos were taken down. That's why himself he's depicted with a portrait from his 13th birthday.'

Right below a huge painting of a stout man and a red-haired woman was the portrait of a teenager with dark-blond hair and big hazel eyes.

'That's him, Sir Lawrence Peter Fitzroy, my great-uncle, born 1916, died 1978.' She gulped.

The guest was speechless for a moment.

'T-the title… it isn't hereditary?'

'Oh, no, he earned it after his heroism during the Second World War; he saved two hundred men and women from the Camps.'

'Wow.'

'Yeah. But… Don't know, actually… perhaps my aunt should have been Lady Laura Katherine Fitzroy?'

They both laughed.

Elizabeth was still looking at her great-uncle's portrait.

'He was the greatest man I've ever known. The way he ended… just… Seriously, it's like God hates this family.'

Her guest was curious to ask more but he preferred to wait. He just looked up at the double portrait.

'Are those your great grand-parents?'

'Yes, Richard and Jane Fitzroy. She was Irish and he was of the upper English class. So, when his tobacco trade took off, he simply moved here, a year before my grand-father was born.'

They moved to another portrait, of a grown man, placed next to the one of Sir Lawrence, though much smaller in size.

'Every time I see it I want to spit on it.'

'Was he that bad?'

'The only one worse is his eldest son.'

'I don't dare ask.'

'He dedicated his life to hating my great-uncle. He was involved with the under-world, and at home he was abusing his children, his wife… me…'

'Miss Fitzroy…'

'No worries, I'm over it.'

She moved to the left.

'Here is my father, Andrew, on his graduation. The woman next to him is my grand-mother Melinda, and the little girl, that's me.'

The guest smiled.

'You look like your aunt.'

'Ah, it's because of the red hair. My aunt, she was… an out-of-this-world creature, and I'm saying it not just because of her exceptional beauty. I'm nothing like her.'

'Well,  _you_  are beautiful…'

The green eyes glittered. She had seen photos of her aunt, and she couldn't be more different. She had long curly hair and green eyes and high cheek bones, the only resemblance to her aunt. And she was short; her aunt was 1.75, after all. Still, Elizabeth enjoyed the compliment and she was finding the charming stranger more attractive by the minute. Simultaneously, the feeling that she had seen him before, deepened.

'Let's... let's go further.'

'Ah, there has been a portrait here?' he pointed at a marked place on the other side of Laura's portrait.

'Yes... It was of my uncle Walter.'

'He died, too.'

'I wish. Right now he's one of Interpol's and CIA's most wanted. They took the portrait for reference.'

'Ouch.'

'Ouch is right. He's three years older than my aunt and he was obsessed with the idea that the Fitzroy money belonged to him.'

'I don't think I follow.'

'You really know nothing of us?'

'No…'

'OK… So, my aunt Laura is the illegitimate daughter of Sir Lawrence and Melinda, Maxwell's wife.'

'Oh my…'

'But since she's the daughter of the first-born and heir to the estate, she inherits everything.'

'So, why the complications?'

'When my great-uncle had found out that she was his, he took her away from the nightmare here, but forgot one little detail – on paper she was still Maxwell's daughter. He had fixed that, apparently, shortly before her wedding, but until then, officially, Sir Lawrence had no children and so Walter was the primary hair to the Fitzroy fortune.'

'Oh, no.'

'What?'

'For once I wish it wasn't about money.'

'It's always about money, Peter.'

The tea they had ordered arrived and after a short break they moved to the second floor. McCabe noticed the strange way George was staring at him but preferred not to say anything.

Next they entered a smaller sitting room on the upper level, and then a bedroom.

'This was my grand-mother's private chamber.'

'It's very beautiful.'

'I know. I believe this was the only place she's been happy.'

'How come?'

'All her children were born in this room and, I guess, at least my aunt was conceived here…'

'Jesus, Miss Fitzroy…'

'What, too shy? Oh, come on, people love that part. Come.'

She didn't notice the deep red colour her guest's face took. Instead, she led him to the wardrobe.

'Ever read  _Narnia_?'

'No, but I know the story...'

'Well, here is my grand-ma's very own Wardrobe.' Having said that she opened the door and the entrance to one whole other suite was revealed.

'This was my great-uncle's private apartment; he slept here whenever he was in town.'

'And that's how they… visited each other?'

'Yes. The story, as she had told me, says that they were supposed to be married when he left for Europe in the early stages of the War. She had been told, by his relatives apparently, that he was killed and so, under the pressure from her impoverished family, she married my grand-father.'

'And then your great-uncle returned.'

'Yeah…'

'That story alone is enough for a war epic.'

'I know. Well… My sweet aunt came along while Sit Lawrence had been away again… He never knew she was his until eight years later.'

'Laura… and Lawrence…'

'Oh, yes, she's named after him.'

They crossed the wardrobe passage and walked into a broad sitting room. It was tastefully decorated, with nothing excessive or kitschy. It led to a bedroom and further there was an office, hidden behind a heavy oak door.

'You mentioned earlier you opened the place for visitors for financial reasons?'

'Yes… Nobody knows what happened to all the Fitzroy money but at one point we had to do it. The only thing left that my uncle Walter, wherever he is, lusts after, is the mansion by the Mediterranean.'

'So, it's yours?'

She chuckled. 'I wish. It's my aunt's.'

'Uhm… Your dead aunt?'

'Come with me.'

She took an old-fashioned key and opened the door to Sir Lawrence's office.

'This place is opened only for guests who had paid for the Full tour.'

'I'm lucky then.'

On a small platform was an odd, huge, iron writing desk. Behind it the whole wall was covered with books. The room was overlooking a backyard and right before the platform was a small glass vitrine with photos.

'My great-uncle didn't want the faces of any of his family to be revealed but eventually I won and he agreed to put this one, from my aunt's wedding. The story is tragic and beautiful, and the visitors love it. …Mr McCabe, are you all right?'

'Y-yes…' The man was shivering; his eyes were suddenly wet. He was practically devouring the photo. 'M-may I… may I look at it closer?'

'I'm sorry, it's my only copy; nobody can touch it.'

'That's OK then.' He leaned over the glass.

The photo showed Laura Fitzroy on her wedding day, dressed in a simple but effective white dress. Her head was covered with a glittering, transparent veil; red hair was falling free on her elegant neck, emphasized by the position she was in.

The picture had captured the kiss that she and her husband shared after the fateful 'I do.' All that was seen from the groom was his straight, dark-brown hair, tied in a pony-tail. He was dressed in silk, but nothing more was revealed. His bride's hand was gently laid on his chest, while his arms were pulling her in a tender hug. Both were smiling while sharing that first kiss.

'Peter? Mr McCabe…?'

The man was smiling now. He stood up, his eyes were looking tenderly at the photo. He wiped a tear.

'It… It just brings memories…'

She noticed his left hand.

'You're not married…'

'They're somebody else's memories.'

Mr McCabe tenderly slid fingers across the glass; Elizabeth could swear he… caressed the picture?

'You were there?'

'I don't remember much… I remember my aunt's laughter, her happiness… I don't remember much from my uncle, I never met him again. But this must have been one of the few truly happy days of my life.'

'I wish I could have seen them… getting married…'

'I wish I could see them again. They loved each other so much. My great-uncle was telling me of their love, how strong it has been, how they spent each and every day absolutely devoted to each other, and to my cousin eventually.'

'A cousin?'

The glass vitrine had been covered with a purple velvet cloth and Elizabeth had uncovered only the first photo.

'Oh, sorry, I get lost in Dreamland every time I see this picture.' She pulled the whole cloth and her guest was now plain and simply petrified.

The next photo was a blurry one, of the same couple, the woman lying in a bed kissing her husband, in her arms hiding a little bundle.

'It has been taken on the day my cousin Peter was born, one year after their wedding, 1965.'

'Your great-uncle is the photographer?'

'Mhm. They still lived in the San Francisco area then. He was telling me the boy was born during a huge thunder storm in the early morning and there had been an earthquake, too.'

'Really?!'

'Yeah. He kept talking of what folklore predicts of people born under such circumstances.'

'What?'

'Well, the leaders are usually born in the morning, and the storm and nature's anger, as Sir Lawrence used to say, mean 'one hell of a temper',' she said and smiled. Her guest moved unnerved and slid fingers through his hair.

'Y-yes…' He coughed. 'I've heard those... they must be true, must be true...' He cleared his throat and looked further.

'This here is a very artistic photo, also made by my great-uncle.'

McCabe didn't say anything. His face was emanating love.

'Do you like it?'

'Yes.'

The picture was black and white. It showed Laura's husband standing by a window with his back to the camera. In the right corner, slightly off focus, is a bed where Laura is sleeping, it doesn't look like hospital, though. The man is holding a tiny baby, little head leaned on his right arm. The man's head is bent, his gaze is fixated on the baby. He is smiling.

'My great-uncle used to say he'd never seen a father so connected to his new-born.'

McCabe smiled tenderly.

'They had, I remember now, they had problems actually making him go to work.'

'Really?'

'Yes. It was enough they couldn't make my aunt leave her boy for more than 10 minutes, but my uncle has been practically panicking at the idea of leaving my cousin for even an hour.'

'You don't say…' The man's expression suddenly darkened.

'You're not used to it either, are you?'

'No, I'm… definitely not used to… fathers who can't be apart from their sons for more than an hour,' he said with flat, gravely cold voice.

'Mmm, OK… Do you want to see the rest of the pics?'

'Sure.'

The next photos were of Laura as a little girl. One was of her as a teenager, dancing with her father while stepping on his feet. There was also one of little Laura and her father on horseback.

'Miss Fitzroy… We were talking of your family's house and your dead aunt owning it…'

'I remember. It's really bizarre, so I thought I'd start from here, from the beginning, before moving on.'

She walked to the window.

'My great-uncle adored my aunt; she was everything to him. He never married, so that all of his time would be for her only.'

She crossed arms.

'Back in the 60s he had left briefly for Viet Nam, not as a soldier, he wanted to help people who wished to leave and eventually come here.' She smiled sadly. 'Half the Asian population of San Francisco's Chinatown has come here with his help… In the meantime my grand-father got a new business partner. And, my story will make more sense than usual in light of some events from this summer. You might have heard on the news, the raid against the mafia boss Thomas Ketonna?'

'Is there anybody who hadn't heard?'

'Right. So, he was my uncle's business partner. My uncle decided to cheat him and promised him the hand of my aunt. He comfortably hid the fact that she was not his daughter'

McCabe made a face of disgust.

'Anyway. They have been engaged, in her father's absence, and apparently she called it off few days before the official announcement of their union.'

'She met someone else?'

'Apparently, and none of them knew nothing until few days before her wedding to my uncle.'

'What happened?'

'She left, being assisted by my uncle, who, as Sir Lawrence used to say, was a gentle but a very dangerous man, 'made for great deeds'.'

'Sounds like a hero.'

'Perhaps.'

'Forgive the interruption. …And?... Where… where are your cousin and uncle?'

Elizabeth moved from the window.

'After my aunt died, they've lived in a special place, a monastery. …They were both killed after the place burned down, ten year after my aunt's death.'

'Miss Fitzroy, I am…  _really_  sorry.'

'Me too.'

'Did you know them?'

'No. It was only when they died that I learned they've been so close, all this time.'

'How did your great-uncle take it? He must have been devastated.'

'How he took it? To put it simply, he lost his mind.'

McCabe closed eyes.

'How?'

'After my aunt's death he disappeared; he left the US, started spending a lot of time in Europe, especially in France.'

McCabe turned abruptly. 'France?'

'Yes. During the war he was given a beautiful house by a family he saved and actually re-united after being five years separated. It's a small mansion, down by the Mediterranean. He started spending a lot of time there, fixing it.'

'He didn't want to be with his daughter's family?'

'Oddly enough, no. He seized all contact with them, officially because of his own grief. He told me they were safer away from him.'

'What does that mean?'

'No idea. But it gets weirder. Days after they died, he suddenly came back. I hadn't seen him in a year. He was very sick. He kept repeating that he's alive, that my cousin needs him, that he has to go there… He didn't want to stay in hospital, he just wanted to go… Three days later he was taken by a seizure.'

She shook head and her guest gave her a light hug.

'It's OK, no problem… The worst? After great-uncle's death, my uncle, being already chased by the authorities of three countries and doesn't count, I remain the last Fitzroy. I find out that all we have left, this house and the one in France, are on my aunt's name. There's money… somewhere in Switzerland, for her, too. If she dies, all goes to Sir Lawrence's 'pride and joy', as he called him, my cousin.'

McCabe gulped. 'But…'

'Yeah, the being-dead issue. My great-uncle was in delirium in his last days. He kept talking of Laura, of them, of them all being alive, how he had to find them, how everything was theirs… It all started making sense only after I red his will… and after my lawyer told me that the United States of America still treats all three of them as very much alive.'

'How come?'

'No death certificates have ever been issued.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. And more. My aunt disappears off records shortly after she becomes legally recognised as my uncle's only daughter and heir. They couldn't even find her marriage certificate.'

Elizabeth clapped with hands, and looked in despair.

'So, you see… my dear great-uncle didn't care about his last surviving heir. I'm the last damn Fitzroy, the last to carry that cursed name, and I can't even sell this place because I don't own it.'

'What if they're officially proven dead?'

'It becomes hospital or something. Believe me… I spent almost all of my family's last pieces of fortune trying to get out of here, no way.'

'That's sad…'

'Yes… Luckily I'm a woman, and if someday somebody takes me, that damn name will seize to exist.'

'Miss Fitzroy… Are you OK?'

'Oh, sure… I apologise for the outburst, guess I needed to share…'

'I'm flattered.'

She was looking at the iron writing desk.

'What's there?'

'Sir Lawrence's last mystery.'

'Meaning?'

'It's a weird, old desk and nobody seems to be able to open it. I thought if he had some documents to the place in there I might be able to do something but…'

'Have you called specialist?'

'Of course, many. They said dynamite was the only way but since it would damage the contents I refused. The thing is… hermetically sealed…'

'How's that possible?'

'I don't know.'

He put hand on her shoulder. 'Are you really the last of your family? What about the others?'

'What others?'

She went out.

'Follow me.'

They walked to another bedroom. 'In the year when my aunt died, my grand-father was found drowned in his bathtub, here, in this room. Rose thinks he's still haunting it.'

'Accident?'

'Officially… yes. He slips, hits his head, drowns. The rumours have it that my grand-mother had him killed as a revenge for my aunt's death.'

'What happened to your grand-mother?'

'She kept no contact with my aunt, didn't even attend her wedding. I don't think she has ever seen my cousin either. She was saying, 'to spare her baby'. She was found dead in her bed… There, in this room… Too much brandy and sleeping pills. Can you guess when?'

'I'm afraid to ask.'

'On the first anniversary of my father's death.'

'Jeez…'

'Yeah.' She shrugged. 'I told you, this house is a sad place.'

'I agree.'

'Well, shall we go back?'

'Of course. Thanks for the extensive talk. It is… one hell of a story…'

'I know. It's even sadder than the Bradshaws'.'

'The B…' McCabe nearly plunged down the stairs.

'Mr McCabe, oh my God… Peter… Are you hurt?'

'No, no… Just stepped badly, that's all…Let me, let me take a seat...'

He sat on the top-most step of the broad staircase.

'You were telling me of… the Bradshaws?'

'Oh, there's nothing to tell, just another prominent San Francisco family.'

'Please… Until I catch my breath… What's with them?'

'Nothing, other than that they also made their fortune from tobacco trade. They, however, are locals, not invaders like the Fitzroys, and there's feud between the two families since… since Richard Fitzroy first set foot in San Francisco.'

'Oh, boy… Ha!' He chuckled.

'You find that funny?'

'Oh, God, no, no… Just interesting, like from a novel… Don't tell me someone from this family fell in love with a Bradshaw.'

'No, no. They are still rich, as far as I know, but they've attracted probably more attention even than us.'

'How, they found the Holy Grail?'

Elizabeth laughed loud. 'No… I skipped mentioning that I'm out of the wedlock as well.'

'I was too shy to ask.'

'Thank you. Well, my family kept their secret better. In the late 40s the Bradshaws' eldest daughter apparently had a relationship the family didn't approve. I've heard rumours and I don't want to spread them since I don't know if they're true. But the result – in 1952 she dies at childbirth… unmarried.'

'Right.'

'The talk of the town. I've heard they were even planning to get rid of the baby.'

'No!'

'Well, they didn't, and it seems her child is now one of their last surviving heirs. Her younger sister's two sons died in a car crash now in October, one was drunk, the other drunk  _and_  high. The first of her brothers remained unmarried… turns out he's homosexual, no prospect of children there. The youngest brother's son runs the business now. Last thing I heard he checked out of rehab in August.'

'Well, he's clean at least.'

She grinned.

'That's his third checking out since the beginning of the 90s.'

'O…K…'

'Yeah. Not much better. I keep promising myself to call on him, but…'

'What about the feud?'

'Exactly! This is ridiculous. Why hate each other? Both families have borne so much… I don't get it.'

'What about Marie's son?'

'Huh?'

'Marie Bradshaw's son?'

'He… I don't know… In law enforcement I think… Did… did I mention her name?'

He gulped. 'Oh, yes, Marie, the eldest daughter… Yes.'

'And I said… it was a son?!'

'Y-yes…' McCabe gulped again. 'Right, I think we should call it a day, ha? You're tired and I've got a plane to catch.'

'OK…' Still confused Elizabeth started moving down.

'Miss Fitzroy… I think I've lost my keys... Do you mind?'

'I'll check downstairs. Should I get your bag?'

'Yes, please, I'm coming,' came a distant voice.

Downstairs Elizabeth saw her house-keeper.

'Rose, our guest is leaving, would you bring his bag, please?'

'Of course, my dear.'

Elizabeth had enjoyed talking to the stranger. She had never revealed so much about her family before, but he didn't know that. Where had she seen him though?

'Ah, Mr McCabe… Did you find your keys?'

He showed off a key holder.

'In the magic wardrobe.'

'Oh, good. Did you find my talk interesting?'

'Very. I really appreciate your attention, thank you. I hope we'll meet again.'

'Well…' So did she. 'Me too… Ah, there's your bag.'

The elderly Rose Holmes entered and the moment she set eyes on the young man tears filled her eyes.

'Master Peter!'

'E-excuse me?'

'Rose...'

'Master Peter, my boy, you're back!'

The old woman came close and kissed his hands. 'My Sir… God, you're back.'

'But I'm not…'

'Look at you, my dear Master, you're more beautiful than ever.'

'Rose, please… Rose, this is Mr McCabe. He's a guest. Guest, Rose, and he's leaving.'

The guest, however, kept holding the elderly hands, and kissed them in return. She caressed his cheek.

'My Master…. Look at that smile, oh, God, it's really you…'

'Rose… please!'

'I'll show you, Miss, I'll show you, hold on here,' said the old woman and hurried inside a small corridor.

'Mr McCabe, I'm so sorry… she does that sometimes.'

'She's been with your family long?'

'All her life. She came here as a maid for my great-grand-mother.'

'Adorable woman.'

'I know. Once she saw some actor on TV and thought he was my great-uncle.'

'Actor?'

'Of course! That's why you look so familiar… The actor, Wolf Gannet, you look just like him.'

McCabe smiled lightly. 'I get that a lot.'

'I'm glad we sorted that out. Phew!'

'Look, Miss, I really need to go.'

'Well, Peter McCabe, it had been a great afternoon. Thank you! Have a nice trip!'

'Miss Fitzroy…  _I_  thank you!' He kissed her hand and left.

In that very moment Rose came back and handed Elizabeth a faded old picture the younger woman had never seen.

'There, there, Master Peter, there.'

Elizabeth drew a breath.

This was a photo of her great-uncle, Sir Lawrence Peter Fitzroy. It must have been taken during the 60s. She didn't have memory of him so young… and healthy… and so handsome, too. He had serious expression, but at least he was in the one place he ever called home – his ranch in Colorado. He was leaning on the gate, a nobleman turned cowboy, wearing white cowboy hat, plaid shirt and jeans, and he even had a buckle.

But what really made Elizabeth's heart skip a beat? The resemblance! Gaping she shook head.

'That's impossible!'

'Master Peter,' said Rose proudly, and tapped the photo.

The man Elizabeth had been entertaining all afternoon, the one who just left, he could pass for a twenty years younger copy of the man on the picture. He had darker hair and was taller, of course, but the rest…

Elizabeth ran outside. The street was empty; she didn't even know if he had come by taxy or rental, she didn't know where he was taking his plane from…

Then something clicked.

'God, no!'

Frantically she ran upstairs. She couldn't believe her stupidity, leaving a stranger roam free in the house.

In her great-uncle's office she ran to the vitrine, grateful to find all photos there. And then with the corner of her eyes she spotted a change – the writing desk!

Slowly she walked to it, and saw the mighty hermetically locked cabinet open. Elizabeth fell to her knees. It wasn't forced, not even scratched. She noted to inspect for finger prints but deep inside she knew there weren't going to be any.

Inside she found documents, the original of her great-uncle's will, more documents, even money. There was a jewellery box and heavens, a 2 kg gold bar!

'Good God!'

He opened it… How? And why hadn't he taken the gold? What sort of man opens locked cabinets and doesn't take the gold?!...

She checked further. On the top shelf she found the first editions of few books, and a photo album! Her eyes lit.

Elizabeth took it out. It was a thick case made to hold two albums. The labels on the case said  _My baby with Daddy_  and the other –  _My baby and her baby_. The case was light. Inside she found a thick album with deep-red hard cover. On the etiquette she read  _Baby and Daddy_ , the album containing photos of her aunt Laura with Sir Lawrence, of her aunt as a baby, as a student and college graduate. But there was no other album. Elizabeth checked the cabinet again, sought through both shelves, nothing.

The second album,  _that_  is what was missing. She looked again at the aged photo with her great-uncle.

…The sort of man who finds an old photo album more valuable than 2kg of gold.

'That's impossible!'

 

*******

**END OF EPISODE 2**


	8. Story Notes: a family tree

 

 

THE FITZROY FAMILY TREE

**Richard Fitzroy + Jane O'Shea-Fitzroy**

**- > Sir Lawrence Peter Fitzroy ** _(1916 - 1978)_ ** &   ** **Maxwell Fitzroy** _(1920 - 1967)_

_*_

**Maxwell Fitzroy**   **+** (married)  **Melinda Gregory-Fitzroy** _(1921 - 1975)_

_**- > Walter Fitzroy **(1941) ** &  Andrew Fitzroy **(1945 -1975)_

_*_

**Sir Lawrence Peter Fitzroy + **Melinda Gregory-Fitzroy****

**- > Laura Catherine Fitzroy ** _(1944 - 1967?)_

_*_

**Andrew Fitzroy + unknown** _(died 1961)_

**- > Elizabeth Fitzroy ** _(1961)_


End file.
